


unfair, cousin

by zymotica



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, During Canon, F/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Sexual Tension, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26985049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zymotica/pseuds/zymotica
Summary: He had many ideas of what her different expressions signified, but the look she levelled him with then was one of his favourites. Most looks of exasperation were cold, all too often filled with disdain. From her it didn't say'You idiot',but rather'You drive me mad, Constantin, but I still love you'.From roughly a year before canon until the end.
Relationships: Constantin d'Orsay/De Sardet
Comments: 26
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

Of all the places for Mr de Courcillon's office to be, it had to be situated at the easternmost end of the palace, the window giving a near-unparalleled view of Sérène below. Constantin found it all too easy to allow his tutor's voice to fade into background noise as he watched the city's people go about their lives, not that they were as lively as they'd been in the past. Though the late afternoon sun lit the city with a warm, comforting glow, it merely served as nature's own form of deception to hide the ugly state of affairs burning its way through the continent. Yet even so, he'd certainly prefer to be out there instead of in an overwarm study, listening to his tutor speak of matters that he held in low regard - if he were to put it politely. He wondered where his cousin was at that moment; perhaps in her room, or out riding, or maybe even bathing, the mere rivulets of water running down her back possessing more luck then he'd had in all his years combined- 

“And why do you think that is, Your Highness?”

Constantin started, tearing his eyes away from the open window to meet the somewhat exasperated gaze of his tutor. “Erm, well-”

de Courcillon sighed. “Your father was insistent you understand the finer points of internal diplomacy, Your Highness.”

Of course his father was insistent. That was all he ever did, constantly insist and never take an interest in him beyond his base utility as an heir. He was never even satisfied with the results of said insistence, ignoring his merits and focusing only on the vices that remained the only things that kept him sane under the weight of such a father, besides the company of his cousin.

Constantin begrudgingly dragged his attention back to the lesson. “Surely the best way to gain their respect would be through direct action and intervention, as opposed to trinkets and empty promises?”

“That would depend on your definition of an empty promise, Your Highness,” de Courcillon replied, his face lined with the ever-familiar look of subdued disapproval. “As for so-called 'trinkets', what is worth little to one can be worth a great deal to another.”

“I've often found that our allies prefer direct action regardless, and are willing to go to some lengths in order to get it.” It would never end at gifts and promises, and all that bowing and scraping was almost always intended to manipulate and ensnare, as if they thought he could be persuaded by such trivialities.

“That may be so, but you cannot deny the importance of what you deem to be empty promises; as much as the Congregation owes its prosperity first and foremost to trade, it also owes no small amount to alliances made between noble families through marriage. As aware as I am of your opinions on that particular matter,” de Courcillon added, catching a glimpse of what was no doubt an irritated look on Constantin's own face. “A relationship rooted in obligation need not remain that way, Your Highness.”

That at least, he knew well enough. While undoubtedly not what de Courcillon was referring to, the insistence that his cousin remain close to him was one of few fatherly orders he appreciated, especially since she had shown no sign of ever spending time with him due to obligation, even though her assistance was certainly one of her responsibilities as a member of the household.

A responsibility he could use in his favour. He was certainly not averse to using such an obligation to his advantage, so long as she was amenable. A smile began to spread across his face as a plan took root in his mind. It was a long shot for certain, but one that could provide him with some measure of temporary distraction from the dreary lesson, even if it came to absolutely nothing.

“Sir de Courcillon, do you not think it would be better to experience this in a more... practical manner?”

If de Courcillon was a rude man, Constantin was certain his eyes would've rolled to the heavens. “And what would such a manner entail?” he asked wearily.

Constantin found himself quite undeterred. He eagerly leaned forward in his chair, hands on his thighs. “Think about it! A journey across the whole Congregation, experiencing both the nuance of diplomacy and the pleasures of the city first-hand!”

His tutor really did roll his eyes then, slumping back in his chair with a frown that positively screamed of long-suffering exasperation. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I rather suspect that your education would take something of a back seat in such a scenario, Your Highness.”

There lay his perfect opening. “Ah, but I would not be alone! I'm certain my fair cousin would accompany me on such a journey, and she can always be relied upon to come to my rescue if needed.”

“While your cousin has indeed shown a little more patience with matters of state, I highly doubt she would pull you away from your… indulgences.”

Constantin both marvelled at and resented that patience. He wasn't utterly unsuited to matters of state the way his father thought he was, he simply found the way they were presented extremely tedious. Sign this, talk finance with this diplomat, grit your teeth and smile at your rivals. Nothing that offered genuine freedom to make some kind of difference, to make decisions of his own, rather than just those for his house, his legacy. He could create a city - a nation - on his own terms, free of his parents' poisonous influence. He would be a man of the people, not one who watched stoically from his ivory tower. There was little doubt that his cousin would stand beautiful and steadfast at his side, her skills perfectly complimenting his own. Naturally, there'd been a time when he'd felt jealous of her, as he still even did on occasion, but that had never kept the scalding heat of his affection from tainting that in all the right ways. If advisor was the only capacity he could have her in, he would treasure it.

“Maybe so, de Courcillon, but you would find us a formidable duo nonetheless," he continued, inspired by the tender image of her in his mind's eye. "With her at my side, the drinking would only go so far, and wouldn't you say a relaxed mind is all the more open to fresh knowledge?”

de Courcillon met his gaze with a wholly inscrutable expression. “As loath as I am to admit it, such a trip may not be without its merits.” He waved a hand. “Under certain conditions, of course.”

Constantin blinked. He hadn't actually expected that to work. “Sir?”

“Your father must approve, of course, though I shall present the idea to him myself. On the condition that your cousin agrees to accompany you.”

And he was certain she would. He could picture it perfectly; the two of them carving a majestic path through the cities of the Congregation, with both her sole company and the pleasures of the city at his disposal. Away from Sérène, away from lessons, but most importantly, away from the stifling grip of his father.

“I daresay it would be too much to hope that you're focused enough to continue with your studies today?”

Constantin couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. His off-hand impulsive suggestion had gone far better than he ever could've hoped, and it was a hard task indeed not to laugh with delight. “I fear that may be the case, good sir.”

Courcillon rose with a sigh. “Take this time to pose this suggestion to your cousin, then. I will ask His Serene Highness when you have her ascent, and not before.”

Constantin almost indulged the stupid urge to salute, still completely baffled at the unexpected turn of events. “You won't regret this, Sir!”

“With all due respect, that remains to be seen.” His tutor crossed the room and held open the study door, wearing an unmistakable look of the weariest resignation. “Have a pleasant afternoon, Your Highness.”

Constantin had no doubt that he would.

\--

He did not find Elise De Sardet in her quarters, not that he'd truly expected to. His fair cousin had long possessed a tendency to spend all the time she could outside, a preference they shared. She'd most likely be in one of her favourite haunts, all peaceful and far away from prying eyes. A few words to a passing servant confirmed she'd made her way towards the gardens about an hour previously, bag and book in hand. He smiled to himself; she was probably at their old childhood haunt, and he would bet the entirety of his father's coffers that he knew exactly what was in her bag. With the path to her clear, he made his way out into the garden with only a few interruptions from his mother's circling vultures.

He inhaled deeply as he stepped outside. There was something about the garden that promised so much more freedom than the palace, even though it was still well and truly within the Prince's domain. Full of alluring nooks, the garden was made private by endless expanses of flowers and alcoves formed from trees so elegantly gnarled they looked like antlers. Constantin made his way to none of them, instead choosing the path that led towards the quietest and westernmost end of the garden, dutifully choosing to ignore a kissing couple entwined on a stone bench as he passed, though not without noting the stark difference in their dress.

Elise was indeed at their old childhood meeting place, sat on the grass with her back resting against the familiar old tree with a book open against her thighs. Constantin felt a grin slowly spread across his face as he caught sight of the half-empty bottle of wine next to her, a bag resting empty at its side. As tempting as the idea of watching her for a while was, he wanted to talk to her far more.

“Cousin!”

Elise's head rose with a start, but a beautiful smile quickly overtook her look of surprise. “Constantin! I should've known you'd find me here.”

He made his way up to the tree and sat down beside her, the wine between them. “Pray tell, fair cousin, which was it that summoned me: our old hiding place or-” He picked up the bottle and had to stifle a laugh at the label. “This divine bottle that I believe has been in my father's stores for decades?”

Her answering chuckle was music to his ears. “I didn't realise we were pretending that you didn't 'acquire' this for the purpose of gifting it to me for my birthday.”

“Perhaps I was simply eager to see such a vintage in the hands of someone who would appreciate it!” Against the lips of someone who deserved it.

She flushed. “Well, I certainly do. Thank you, Constantin.”

“Please, think nothing of it. Though -” he paused, watching Elise's face for the exact moment in which she knew what he was going to say. “Perhaps you would be willing to share it?”

He had many ideas of what her different expressions signified, but the look she levelled him with then was one of his favourites. Most looks of exasperation were cold, all too often filled with disdain. From Elise it didn't say _'You idiot'_ , but rather _'You drive me mad, Constantin, but I still love you.'_

“I'd apologise for not bringing a glass, but I know it'd be a waste of my breath,” she said with a smirk. “I doubt I could stop you from having some even if I wanted to.”

He shot her a grin before wrapping his lips around the bottle and drinking deeply, keenly aware that she'd brought no glass of her own.

“I thought you had lessons this afternoon?” she asked, retrieving the bottle from him and taking a long drink herself.

“Yes, about that-”

She gave him that lovely look again. “Please don't tell me you climbed out of the window again.”

“You wound me, fair cousin. Why, I was actually given leave to come straight to you!”

She placed the bottle on the ground away from them, an eyebrow raised. “And why would that be?”

“Our good teacher Sir de Courcillon gave me leave to ask you whether you would accompany me on an educational tour of the Congregation.”

“An educational tour,” she said flatly.

“Just so.”

She looked at him for a moment longer then grinned from ear to ear, her head falling back against the tree as she closed her eyes. Constantin allowed his eyes to rove over her; from the smooth expanse of her neck to the bright smile that he was certain could be seen all the way from the palace.

He wasn’t careful enough to look away by the time she opened her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade in the slightest. “Oh, there’s absolutely no chance he believes you, Constantin. How bored you must have looked for him to actually say yes to this!”

He imagined he’d looked more distracted than bored, but it was no hardship for him to smile back at her nonetheless. “So you mean to say that it wasn’t my enviable diplomatic talents that won him over?”

She simply rolled her eyes affectionately in response. “And you say my company is a requirement?”

“Positively mandatory, fair cousin.”

She’d flushed scarlet when he’d first called her that, years ago. He wasn’t sure if the apparent desensitisation to it was a curse or a comfort. A curse that his feelings would never be recognised or a comfort twofold; a comfort that his feelings would never be recognised and thus rejected, yet conversely a comfort that she heard his words, heard him and accepted him.

“Well then, far be it from me to refuse you," she said, a smirk playing about her lips despite the formal words.

Her answer was a foregone conclusion, but a no less welcome one. Constantin took a short moment to make an exaggerated point of looking around for glasses he knew weren't there. "I would toast to our newfound agreement but alas, we seem to be lacking the proper implements!"

“You're just here for the wine, aren't you?”

“Come now, you know how the song goes: He that drinks is immortal and can never decay-”

“-For wine still supplies," Elise finished, the affectionate smile still clinging to her as she passed him the bottle again.

Constantin took it gratefully and took a long, satisfying swig before speaking again. “I truly never expected de Courcillon to even entertain the idea, you know,” he admitted. “I just thought the point would make for an amusing distraction.”

“Evidently your distractions do not lack for ambition.”

If only she knew how ambitious most of his distractions truly were. Though sometimes he caught glimpses in her eyes, in the tone of her voice, that sent a shiver up his spine and diligently served to keep his foolish hopes alive. He didn't know if he resented or coveted that.

As she leaned towards him to pluck the bottle from his hands once more, the indulgent smile on her face gave him his answer.

\--

As always seemed to be the case, his time with her passed far too quickly. He could think of very few things he'd rather be doing than watching the warm sunset light flirt across his cousin's fine features, least of all returning to the palace to stomach dinner with his parents. His discomfort must have been evident on his face, as Elise offered him the last of the wine with a somewhat sad look.

“Must we return, cousin? Now that I think about it, I don’t find myself to be especially hungry tonight.”

Elise sighed and got to her feet. “We both know we must.”

The temptation to throw the then-empty bottle was almost overwhelming. Instead, he took Elise's outstretched hand and indulged himself in its warmth for a moment, before allowing her to pull him up. Only for his legs to forget themselves and lurch him forwards into her arms.

Her voice was soft and lightly teasing close to his ear, its intoxicating familiarity heating him more than wine ever could. “Surely your tolerance is better than that? All that tavern-hopping can't have been for naught.”

“I'm merely drunk on the possibilities outside these walls, my dear!” he said, straightening up while keeping an arm wrapped loosely around her strong shoulders. “Now, which way to abject misery?”

Thankfully she made no effort to dislodge him, much to his satisfaction. Instead she slipped a steadying hand around his waist before setting them off on a slow, leisurely walk.

The garden was even more beautiful at sunset, the fiery sky inflaming the intimacy of already romantic alcoves. Constantin briefly thought of the couple he'd caught a glimpse of earlier that afternoon, who had undoubtedly escaped to someplace that wasn't the ruthless dinner table of the Prince d'Orsay. What he wouldn't give to be in their position; to be free to drag his cousin away from their shared responsibilities, away from all his father's schemes and his mother's scorn. He'd often wondered whether Elise felt the same desperate need to escape, or was simply far better at hiding it. He knew there'd been talk of betrothing her to the eldest son of a rival Congregation house as of late, yet he had little idea of how that made her feel.

“Does the future scare you, cousin?” he asked. He had to know.

Her arm tensed slightly around his waist. “In what way do you mean?”

“You must've seen it too. There's only so long my parents can go without making proper use of their most valuable pawns.”

From the answering look on her face, he could tell that the bitterness in his voice had not gone unnoticed. She sighed. “I find the uncertainty unnerving. One moment I'll be reading in peace and the next I'll be bombarded by messages on behalf of Lord what's-his-name from Castile.”

Castile was likely to be on the list of Congregation cities that Sir de Courcillon, or maybe even his father, would draw up for their travels. Perhaps he hadn't thought this through.

“I suppose I'll do what I must, but-”

“But?”

She gave him a smile that simply sang with delightful conspiracy. “But if you can get yourself into some kind of trouble just before it was about to happen, I would be very grateful. It would hardly be proper to leave you in such peril.”

“So long as you would do the same for me, fair cousin,” he said, nudging his head to hers as they walked. “Unless you'd like to be in the prolonged company of one Lady Isabelle for the remainder of our lives?”

She gave him such an entertaining look of indignation that he couldn't help but laugh as she shoved him.

“Oh, damn you Constantin!” she said, cheeks flaring. “You are joking aren't you?”

“I don't know what would be funnier: you deliberately showing up to her soirées covered in mud from one of your walks, or her inevitable reaction to it,” he managed to get out between wheezes of laughter. “Do you remember when you were chasing me with one of our little swords and ended up smacking her in the face with it?”

“You're a menace.”

“All accidental, of course.”

“Well, it was!”

It only took a second of silence for her to burst into laughter, filling the garden with Constantin's favourite sound. He'd hear her make that sound every day if it were in his power to make it so.

Her smile was still radiant as her laughter died down. “We had a lot of fun, didn't we?”

Constantin placed a hand on his chest in mock offence. “Do we not still, cousin?”

“I know you understand what I mean. It's different now, regardless of what we'd like.”

She was right on all counts. He'd always felt the crushing demands of his father, but those demands had increased in intensity as the years passed, and the higher the expectations became, the more obvious the disdain.

His sudden change in mood must have been written plain across his face, as he felt a gentle hand brush his shoulder when they reached the doors that led back into the palace.

“Your family does love you, Constantin. I know it may not seem so sometimes but-”

“But what? What good is their apparent love for me if the only thing it comes across as is disdain and disappointment?” He was certain that his cousin was the only one who genuinely cared for him. Her affection felt divorced from her obligations, her love so connected to their long years together that it couldn't be anything but genuine.

He couldn't bear to look her in the eye, then. Not when her eyes shone so clearly with something far too close to pity. Thankfully she had the good grace to say no more and moved the conversation back to old childhood antics for as long as she was able, all the way until they met the ever-captious gaze of his dear father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this game decided to completely blindside me with the sheer amount of (deliberate?) subtext between these two, and i really didn't expect to find this the most emotionally intense dynamic in the game by a mile! hopefully i'll enjoy writing this as much as i enjoyed finishing the game last month.
> 
> for reference, this runs from roughly a year before the events of the game right up until the end of the game's timeline.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes slowly lit up with mirth as he took in her attire. “May I take a moment to compliment you as to your choice of colour, fair cousin?” he said, right on the brink of laughter.
> 
> “What do you-” she looked down at herself and noticed that they were wearing conspicuously identical shades of blue. “Oh. Let me change quickly, I won't be a moment-” She turned to return to her room, only for Constantin to haul her back around by the arm.

Elise doubted a veritable storm was quite the weather Constantin had envisioned when he'd first suggested their journey two months past. Rain hammered mercilessly against their carriage roof as they trundled towards the city of Castile, each dip in the road magnified tenfold in the confined space.

They exchanged a grimace as they hit a particularly nasty bump in the road, though Constantin didn't seem bothered for long, resting his head back against the seat once more when the carriage had settled and looking out of the window with a smile. The weather inside their little box couldn't be more different than that of outside: Constantin's grin seemed to brighten with every mile put between them and Sérène, a genuine smile, not the one he so often plastered on for its own sake. She'd always found those true smiles to be the most infectious things in the world.

His good mood relaxed her despite her misgivings about their journey. She was certain that the bizarre ease in which his request had been granted was not lost on him either, as much as his countenance seemed to imply otherwise. The lesson not to take Constantin wholly at face value had been learned long ago, and she considered herself privileged to know him better than any other.

Constantin turned away from the window to beam at her as if he could somehow tell the exact direction of her thoughts. “Another game of cards, cousin?” he asked.

It wasn't a hardship to smile back. “After you thrashed me so soundly the last time? Not likely,” she replied, trying and failing to repress the memory of Constantin’s last sweeping victory. “Clearly I haven't had the practice in taverns you've had.”

“Come now, I think it only fair that there be one field I can best you at!”

“Just one? I beg to differ! I'm sure you'll be thrilled to remember how appalling I am at dancing.”

Constantin laughed, the sound bright and warm. “Perhaps thrilled would be the right word if it meant that it's finally your turn to cause a diplomatic incident, namely by impaling the foot of our young Lord of Castile with your shoe.”

Damn, she hadn't thought of that. It wasn’t actually too bad an idea. “Do you think he'd finally stop sending me letters then?”

“If so, I believe Father would be enraged and I deeply amused, as is so often the way of things.” He sighed at her answering frown. “I believe you should do whatever makes you happy, fair cousin.”

If only she could. It would certainly be satisfying to watch the infuriating betrothal plot end in disaster, but there'd merely be another suitor waiting in the wings, and any sabotage would only encourage even more intervention.

She met Constantin's gaze to see a strange look in his eyes. “Do you want to be betrothed to him?” he asked, hesitance clinging to his every word as his good humour melted away in what seemed like an instant.

“No, of course not!” she answered. “But I'm sorry to say that it'll likely happen regardless at some point, whether I want it or not.”

He scowled indignantly. “You should be free to marry whoever you wish, cousin.”

If only it could be so. She almost envied him; it'd been such a long time since she'd allowed herself to entertain such thoughts of dearly desired freedom, let alone speak them aloud. Time and time again the task had fallen to her to remind him of the reality he so adamantly wanted to ignore, hateful as it was.

“I know that," she said, her voice far more weary than intended. "But I have responsibilities to think about. Regardless, I doubt that Mother would accept me being betrothed to someone I truly hated.”

Her words only seemed to make him angrier. His fists clenched in his lap, knucles whitening under the pressure. “If I were Prince in my father's stead, one of the first things I would do is give a choice to those who couldn't marry exactly as they pleased.”

“Constantin-”

She was, perhaps thankfully, interrupted by a sharp rap on the roof of the carriage, accompanied by the driver's announcement that they were nearing Castile at last. The irritation was wiped clean from Constantin's face in an instant as he eagerly turned to look out at the view.

The city of Castile wasn't as large or as grand as Sérène, but had yet to be tarnished by the Malichor to the same extent. Its outskirts were dominated by farmland and small houses, with the buildings seemingly able to blend in with their surroundings with an ease that Sérène had never achieved or even striven for in the first place. Sérène had always been her home, but she found herself unable to deny the sense of contentment she felt at being somewhere quieter, more in tune with nature. People looked up as their carriage passed, the children even following them, laughing as they tried and failed to keep pace. One young girl met her gaze as she ran and gave her an enormous grin that Elise couldn't help but return. She wondered if they could come out here after their business with Castile's ruling family, Constantin was certain to be amenable to the idea, and would likely enjoy it far more than the stuffy formal affairs he seemed to loathe so much.

She'd often found the Prince d'Orsay a strangely reclusive man, spending countless hours in the confines of his office and next to none in the actual streets of the city he ruled over. In that sense, Constantin was to be his complete opposite, something that her cousin would undoubtedly be delighted to hear. She tried her best to tell him that his father did indeed care for him beyond his coldness, but every time that fell on deaf ears she found herself doubting the truth of her own words. The only thing that kept her at it was her ardent desire to keep him from falling somewhere where even she couldn't save him. Despite everything, it was undeniable that a Constantin away from Sérène was a much happier man, and she'd take as much of that as she could get, all the while hoping that his smile wasn't solely for her benefit.

\--

The carriage finally trundled to a halt in an enclosed courtyard some twenty minutes later, the rain thankfully having eased off. While still undeniably grand, it was a far cry from the d'Orsay's palace in Sérène, the building half the height and not even half as decorative. Nevertheless, it had a simple grace to it that she found appealing, and a quick look across at Constantin told her that they were in agreement.

He placed his hat on his head with a flourish as a footman opened the door, flashing Elise a quick smile. “Ready for an adventure, cousin?” he asked.

She put on her own hat and tried not to think about the fact that they still matched after so many years. “Ever and always.”

Constantin jumped out of the carriage with his usual enthusiasm, but instead of bounding away immediately he turned and offered Elise his hand.

As if she actually needed the assistance. She raised her eyebrows but took it nonetheless, giving him a look that she hoped said _‘Really?’_

He simply smiled in answer as she gave in, allowing him to help her out of the carriage with far more grace than she was accustomed to. It was only after she let go of his warm, calloused hand that she noticed the two men striding across the courtyard towards them, accompanied by a few guards.

A few of their own guards had made the journey with them, including Kurt. They'd travelled in a wagon just behind theirs, looking none too happy about it, especially their loyal master-of-arms, who stood to the side wringing water out of what was presumably the sad remains of his hat.

The two men that approached them were easily distinguishable as the Lord d'Alarie of Castile and his young son, an easy resemblance between them despite what must have been at least a thirty-year gap in age.

“Your Highness, I presume?” said the older man, extending his hand to Constantin. “If I may be so bold, I would say that you're the spitting image of your father in his youth.”

Constantin didn't even flinch at the comparison, much to his credit. “Your Lordship,” he said instead, shaking the man's hand with a smile. “May I introduce my cousin, Elise de Sardet.”

d'Alarie shook her hand with an almost fatherly reverence. “Delighted to meet you, my lady. I trust you already know of my son, Armand?” He gestured to the younger man by his side.

Ah, Armand, that was the name. “Indeed I do, we've corresponded a number of times now,” she said politely.

Armand d'Alarie was a tall man with mousy brown hair and dark blue eyes, likely in his late twenties. He smiled pleasantly as he held out his hand. “I'm honoured to meet you at last, my lady.”

Elise stepped forward to shake his hand and felt his grip jerk slightly in hers, as if in an aborted movement. She wondered if he'd meant to kiss her hand but thought better of it, a relief if so. Faking romantic affection in general, was one thing, faking it in front of Constantin and a captive audience was another entirely. He gave her a strained-looking smile and stepped back to reveal the frowning face of his father.

Constantin predictably took it upon himself to stop the growing silence in its tracks. “I should also introduce Kurt, a Captain of the Guard and our loyal master-at-arms,” he said as Kurt made his way over, still looking incredibly disgruntled. “...Who regrettably chose to remain on the exposed carriage for our journey.”

“An honour, my lords,” said Kurt, bowing respectfully to the d'Alaries and pointedly ignoring the offhand comment as to his bedraggled state.

d'Alarie whispered something indistinguishable in his son's ear before turning back and clapping his hands together, summoning servants as if from thin air to relieve them of their luggage. “Wonderful! You'll be pleased to hear that space at the barracks has been prepared for your arrival, Captain - if you'd follow the good Private here.”

“Most kind of you, Your Lordship,” answered Kurt. “I bid my men go, but I'll be accompanying my charges into the palace, if there are no objections.”

“Not at all,” said d'Alarie. “On the contrary, I admire your dedication. Now, I believe there to be time to relax before dinner, and I imagine you'll need it after your journey.” He gestured for them to follow him into the palace, quickly engaging Constantin in conversation while leaving his son to fall into step next to Elise behind them. Not especially subtle, but she doubted they were even trying to be.

“So-” Armand d'Alarie cleared his throat. “I trust your journey was pleasant?”

Elise had to consciously repress a sigh. Awkward small talk was undoubtedly one of the most tiresome parts of diplomacy, even more so with the unspoken expectations hanging over their heads. She wouldn't let it be said that she was anything less than polite, however, and she could at least be genuine in her flattery of the city. “It was more pleasant than the weather would suggest,” she answered. “Castile is certainly much smaller than Serene, but is all the more welcoming for it.”

“Oh? I'm delighted to hear it,” he replied, genuine surprise in his words. “I've only had the honour of visiting Sérène just once, during my childhood. Am I right in presuming that it has retained its majesty?”

It was a hard thing not to glower at him at that moment. She'd assumed that the Malichor's vice grip on their city was common knowledge, so the man was either extremely stupid or incredibly inept in conversation. The latter was more likely given his education, but she still found such childish ignorance strange coming from a man who probably had almost ten years on Constantin.

She chose her answer carefully, not wishing to offend nor deflect from the topic. “I fear that Sérène has indeed lost some of its splendour as of late, as seems to be the fate of many cities.”

At least Armand had the grace to look embarrassed. “Ah forgive me, I-”

“No need to apologise,” she said, despite dearly wanting to say otherwise. “Though I am curious - I did notice on our journey that Castile has largely gone unscathed as of yet.”

“I'm afraid I have no answer for you, my lady, though I assure you that the other cities of the Congregation have our sincerest sympathies.”

Spoken like a true man trying to dig himself out of a grave, one made by his own hands no less. She thought of all the ways she could twist the knife a little further; by describing the state of the city in detail, children crying over their parent's bodies, all those candles of life growing thinner by the hour. Oh, how it would feel to speak her mind for once, instead of bottling away her feelings to inevitably be released in a storm during her next sparring session. But Lady de Sardet was restrained and polite, and far be it from her be so discourteous to such a distinguished acquaintance. She smiled at him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner and let the conversation tail off into less sensitive subjects, her eyes on him but her mind elsewhere.

\--

They were led to a plush reception area, large and lavishly adorned with dark blue and gold. The opulence was far more reminiscent of Sérène than what she'd seen so far of Castile, and she almost laughed at the assumption that they would prefer such quarters.

d'Alarie strode into the room and turned to address them. “This and the rooms adjacent are for your exclusive use while with us, Your Highness, Lady de Sardet.” Ah, there it was. “Now, we must attend to tomorrow's preparations, but if there's anything you need, do not hesitate to let the servants know.”

Her spirits sank even further when reminded of the next day's events, thinking glumly of the as yet unworn green dress in her luggage. A ball in their honour, the younger Lord d'Alarie had called it in his letters, yet she could think of few worse ways she'd prefer to be 'honoured'.

“I'm sure we won't find your hospitality lacking, my lord,” said Constantin. He remained the picture of good manners, but after knowing him for so long Elise could see the edges of his patience beginning to fray. “Leading us here yourself is more than we could expect already.”

d'Alarie waved his hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it, it is how guests should be treated, as I'm sure your father would agree. Now, I've arranged dinner to be served at seven, I'll send someone for you when it's ready, though you'll have to forgive the small reception this evening,” he chuckled. “Though I imagine tomorrow's events will more than compensate for that - do enjoy your rest, Your Highness, my lady.”

With that, he bustled out of the door, followed obediently by his son, who shot one last glance at her before leaving the door to shut behind them.

Constantin crumpled into a plush armchair almost instantly, as if his strings had been cut. “Dear cousin, if that man mentions my father one more damn time I swear I'll-" he cut himself off, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. "As if my father would lead guests anywhere, unless it was part of some insidious scheme of his!”

Kurt sat himself tentatively on a chair near the door. “From what little I see of His Serene Highness, he's never seemed like the sort to do what could be called 'servant's work'” he said.

“Do you think we could slip out before dinner? How late is it?”

Elise sighed, collapsing into her cousin's nearest seat. “Too late, I'm afraid. Certainly too late to walk for as long as I want to.”

“I heard what he said to you, Greenblood. If you've ever had enough of him, just say the word.”

“Oh, don't tempt me with that,” she laughed. “Though I'm sure what he said was out of naivety rather than genuine intent.”

“You should count yourself lucky, Kurt - you're not forced to respond to monotonous noble droning every day,” sighed Constantin, taking his hat off and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“No, I just have to put up with the two of you instead. And you haven't heard droning until you've had to listen to the higher-ups of the guard bang on for at least an hour. I respect Torsten, but damn can the man talk for Serene.”

Constantin scoffed. “Sounds like a match for my father.”

Elise could sense the makings of a bad mood to match her own from a mile away, from the set of his jaw to the stiffness in his spine. She crossed the room to open one of her bags, pulling out a bottle that stirred such an instantaneous reaction from Constantin that she couldn't help but smile.

“Oh, _cousin_ ,” he almost moaned, apparently inspiring an impromptu coughing fit from Kurt. “You shouldn't have!”

“We're not having the whole thing before dinner,” she stressed, her smile still fixed in place.

“Perish the thought! Care to join us, Kurt?”

“I- uh, appreciate the invitation, but I really ought to be getting back to the men, if you don't need anything else,” answered Kurt, awkwardly getting to his feet. “My brothers say I'm putting on airs enough as it is, I don't need to turn up tipsy on too-nice wine.”

“If you're certain!” said Constantin. “Though I should point out that there's no such thing as-”

Kurt cut him off with a sigh. “Don't do anything stupid, either of you,” he said, pointing at them both in turn but looking directly at Constantin.

Elise chuckled at the look of mock offence on her cousin's face. “We won't. Enjoy your evening, Kurt.”

He gave them a deep bow positively riddled with sarcasm before closing the door softly behind him. Elise could've sworn she heard him muttering to himself as his footsteps faded away.

Constantin grinned. “He likes us really.”

“Of course he does. Now, where are the glasses…”

\--

It was certainly a needed drink, she thought as she settled into her appointed room to dress for dinner later that evening. The green formal dress seemed to laugh at her when she hung it up, its frills waving tauntingly when she shut the door with slightly more force than was needed. She wondered for a moment whether she’d be expected to wear a formal dress for dinner, but pushed the thought aside when she reminded herself that they’d hardly be expected to rise to the occasion straight after a long journey, unless she’d completely misread the d’Alaries. Putting on her formal breeches instead was satisfaction in itself.

Constantin was, surprisingly, already waiting for her when she stepped back into their reception room. He stood leant against the back of an armchair, eyes fixed on a nondescript part of the wall before Elise cleared her throat and he looked up with a start.

His eyes slowly lit up with mirth as he took in her attire. “May I take a moment to compliment you as to your choice of colour, fair cousin?” he said, right on the brink of laughter.

“What do you-” she looked down at herself and noticed that they were wearing conspicuously identical shades of blue. “Oh. Let me change quickly, I won't be a moment-” She turned to return to her room, only for Constantin to haul her back around by the arm.

“No, no, my dear, wait!” he flailed. “It's no bad thing- good, even! We present a united front of Sérène, do we not?”

She looked into his earnest face and felt any need to argue melt away. His wide, pleading eyes were among her greatest weaknesses and she was sure he knew it. “Mmmm. I think you just like the fact that we match.”

“It is always a pleasure to match you, cousin,” he said, almost huskily, unwittingly stirring up an unwelcome feeling just as a knock sounded at the door. “That'll be the call for dinner, I believe.” He gallantly offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

“Best of luck to us both,” she murmured, taking his arm gladly and privately appreciating the physical comfort.

It was indeed the servant calling them to dinner. The elegantly-dressed woman silently led them through the dark corridors of the palace, the only light being the many flickering candles that lit up Constantin's blond hair in a strangely hypnotising way. He seemed to feel her gaze and met her eyes with a soft smile to his lips, accompanied by a slight squeeze of her arm with his. She dearly appreciated how she never had to try and be anything but herself with him, and despite Constantin's general chattiness, there was never any need to force conversation when there was nothing that immediately needed to be said.

The servant stopped them at a set of double doors, announcing their arrival before stepping aside. Elise presumed that the room was not the grandest dining hall in the palace, but rather the one most used by the household on a daily basis. The room was adorned with soft reds and dark woods, appearing to be the closest to 'cosy' as a palace could be. The dining table itself was dark mahogany, and its small size only added to the comforting atmosphere. Already at the table were the lord and his son, who both stood at their arrival.

The younger d'Alarie's gaze strayed briefly to their linked arms before he bowed respectfully. “Lady de Sardet, Your Highness,” he said.

Elise let go of Constantin's arm to bow in return. “Lord d'Alarie. Thank you for having us.”

The elder man waved his hand towards the two seats opposite them, leaving no doubt as to which man Elise was expected to sit opposite. “Please, sit, dinner should be served shortly. I trust venison is to your liking?”

“Very much so, my lord, thank you,” replied Constantin, taking his place opposite the Lord d'Alarie, confirming Elise's suspicions as to the intended seating arrangement. At least she had her cousin closer to her left than would be typical at a grander table.

She took her seat and managed to suppress a sigh in reaction to the chair's comfort. The room truly was more like a reception room than a dining hall, if only they could sacrifice more formality for the sake of comfort back in Sérène. Though judging by the glance Constantin shot her, her indulgence had not gone entirely unnoticed.

If only the same comfort could be extended to their other company. “I must inform you that your presence here has not gone unnoticed, Your Highness,” said d'Alarie. “With your presence, tomorrow is all but certain to be the best-attended function in some time.”

The only hint of Constantin's displeasure was the slightest twitch of his right eye. “I'm glad to hear of such a satisfactory turnout, my lord,” he said. Elise was certain that he was anything but glad. 'Furious' was likely a more accurate word, even considering its extremity. “May I inquire as to how regular your functions are?”

“Our organised balls are considered an annual event, sir,” d'Alarie answered. “I have no doubt that your presence is the catalyst for our longest guest list for quite some years!”

Not her presence, she noted. Perhaps he already considered the match between herself and his son to be a done deal, so concrete as to negate an interest from any other. Constantin would undoubtedly be less than thrilled at the prospect of being the sole subject of that specific kind of attention. She was thankful that a servant appeared with a bottle of wine at that precise, perfect moment, it drawing Constantin's attention in an instant.

“From our very own vineyards here in Castile,” said d'Alarie, smiling at his guest's pointed interest. “Do you consider yourself an aficionado, Your Highness?”

Elise smiled to herself. While it was certainly true that Constantin appreciated fine wine, he'd probably still appreciate even the cheapest swill from Sérène's seediest taverns. Constantin quickly brought the wine to his mouth, drinking just a little too deep to be wholly polite. “I'm not certain I'd go that far,” he answered. He turned to Elise, lip quirked. “In fact, I'd say my fair cousin has twice the palate I do.”

Armand d'Alarie's eyebrows raised as soon as the endearment left Constantin's mouth, but thankfully he made no mention of it. “Do you have a favourite wine, my lady?” he asked instead.

“There was one I had recently - shortly before we came here,” she said. “Though I feel that it's less about the vintage and more about the company.”

d'Alarie raised his glass. “Well said, my lady.”

There was no harm in letting the d'Alaries think she was referring to them. Not when she looked over to see such naked affection written all over Constantin's face.

\--

As promised, their meal did not take long to arrive. Red meat had become more and more of a rarity as the Malichor had tightened its grip on the continent, she couldn't remember the last time it had graced their table in Sérène. There was no evidence that the disease could be contracted that way, nor even that it was contagious, but that did nothing to stop the rising paranoia. Evidently that, as well as the disease itself, had neglected to truly infest Castile as of yet.

Armand d'Alarie, apparently ever the eloquent conversationalist, was the one to break the comfortable quiet atmosphere as they ate. “My father tells me you have a gift for magic, Lady de Sardet?”

Elise took a sip of her wine and silently prepared herself for what was effectively a well-mannered interrogation. “I think calling it a 'gift' would be overstating things but yes, I can use it.”

Armand raised an eyebrow. “Only use? Have you never had formal instruction?”

“Not for lack of encouragement. Though I was always more interested in-” she paused, attempting to hide a grin as she recalled fond childhood memories of incessantly chasing Constantin with a wooden sword. “- different martial pursuits, I should say.”

“While I certainly have the bruises to attest to that, I do believe my fair cousin is being too modest, gentlemen,” said Constantin, setting down his wine glass with a flourish. “Why, my father and I had a disagreement some years ago, and a misunderstanding resulted in me attempting to scale the ramparts of Sérène-”

Armand stared at him incredulously. “You scaled the ramparts?!”

“Attempted to - an important distinction!” Elise recognised Constantin's telltale signs of mounting intoxication, his gestures becoming ever more effusive, voice growing louder. “Anyway, I was quite high up when she - my dearest cousin - found me,” he continued. “I slipped, and the only thing that stood between me and probable death was her and a perfectly timed stasis spell.”

“Ah, the beauty of instinct!” exclaimed Lord d'Alarie. “Your cousin is modest indeed, Your Highness.”

“A natural gift nonetheless, my lord,” replied Constantin, though he seemed to direct his words to Elise alone. His voice had grown deeper and deeper as he went on. She wasn't even sure he knew he was doing it. “I believe it's safe to say that I'd be utterly lost without her.”

Elise felt her face redden as silence reigned utterly over the table, without even the gentle clink of their cutlery to cut through it. There was an uncomfortable uncertainty in the room that had only been there in slivers before, yet not even that was enough to staunch the growing warmth in her chest at Constantin's admission.

Armand broke the silence some minutes later by pointedly clearing his throat and drawing the conversation back to the meal, but Elise found her concentration almost completely lost. Constantin was many things, but subtle had never been one of them. She did appreciate his efforts to dislodge her from an unwanted engagement, but couldn't help but wonder whether her comments about being pressured into one regardless had fallen on deaf ears.

The rest of the evening passed without issue, if quietly, and she found herself unusually glad regarding the lack of dessert. Their hosts bade them good night after a light discussion of the next day's plans, but Armand d'Alarie drew her to one side before she and Constantin could take their leave.

“Would you be amenable to join me for lunch tomorrow?” he asked. The addendum ' _Without your cousin_ ' went unsaid, but was unmistakable.

“It would be a pleasure,” she said politely, taking care to avoid his direct gaze.

He smiled. “Excellent. I often like to take lunch in the gardens, I'll be sure to send directions to you in the morning.”

She bade him a respectful good night in answer and made her way to the room's southern door where Constantin was waiting, a slight frown on his face. She noted their lack of guide and glanced at her cousin in the candlelight as they began walking, an eyebrow raised.

“I said we could find our way back on our own,” he answered. His eyes still swam with intoxication, but also something else she didn't want to name.

She sighed. “Constantin, I do appreciate what you're doing, but-”

“But what? I don't believe he's put off by you in the slightest.”

“It's not me that I'm worried about. You know as well as I do that your father didn't approve this trip out of the kindness of his heart.”

He scoffed. “I'm well aware. No, he approved of this to offer us up to willing suitors, and to see whether or not I'm as incompetent as he thinks I am.”

She didn't have it in her to contradict him, not when he'd hit the crux of the matter so accurately. “But that's exactly what I'm worried about. I don't want you to jeopardise yourself just to help me.”

Constantin stopped in his tracks. “So I shouldn't say what you mean to me?”

She stalled, struck by what sounded like genuine fear in his words. “No, but… perhaps be warier of how you say it.” Not that his flattery was unpleasant - far from it, but she very much suspected that others would get entirely the wrong impression. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Please, Constantin.”

He raised his hand to brush hers for a fleeting moment before raising his gaze with a slight smile on his lips. “Quite right, cousin. I'll be sure to speak of you with nothing more than thinly veiled contempt in future.”

It was no small relief to break the tension with a laugh. “Of course not that, but maybe not quite so-” She wracked her brain for a way to say it. _So strong an implication that you would quite literally bar me from leaving Sérène without you_? It seemed like too much yet too little all at once. “You know what I mean,” she said instead, the unsaid words burning on her tongue.

“I _understand_ , fair cousin, there's no need to worry,” he replied, as if necessity had ever stopped her from thinking of him, let alone worrying about him. Perhaps the wine had gone to her head too, as the treacherous part of her so concerned with him jolted as a mischievous glint appeared in his then-dark eyes. “Now, I believe there's a half-empty bottle of wine left in our rooms with certain names on it?”

Elise chuckled despite herself as they started walking again. “If you have a dreadful hangover tomorrow morning, I beg of you, don't blame me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knew she was being spiteful and unfair, knew his relative isolation went some way to explain his awkwardness. Yet that harsher part of her thought it a small wonder that he hadn't brought up something like the mark on her face in a fit of innocent but insensitive naivete, though there was still time for him to live up to the example of all those kind noble children.

Evidently it was far too much to ask to be woken by the gentle sounds of birdsong, or even the warm, comforting rays of morning light through the window. Elise instead had the dubious honour of being jolted awake by a familiar throbbing pain in her head. She swore to herself as she remembered just how much she and Constantin had drunk the previous night, and how it was likely the most inconvenient day possible to have such a raging hangover. The court of Castile would undoubtedly be thrilled to have such lively guests that evening, weighed down by their own bad decisions. Though knowing Constantin as she did, he'd probably have the audacity to escape with nothing more than bleary eyes.

A momentary glance at the clock told her that it was still mid-morning, much to her relief. It would be so easy to languish in bed all day, to sleep off the aching pain in her head and lose herself in a world free of noble obligation and empty flattery, especially coming from a man who she'd be obliged to spend her life with. But such a word did not exist away from the confines of her own imagination, somewhere she'd learned not to spend too much time in, lest her fantasies get the better of her.

She hauled herself begrudgingly out of bed and chose the first set of clean clothes she could reach, tugging them on while trying to move her head as little as possible. A jug of water stood blessedly waiting for her in their reception room, and it was a difficult task indeed not to drink the entire thing in a single gulp as she felt the liquid cut through the fog inside her head. She collapsed into Constantin's preferred armchair instead and recalled how he'd happily slumped into it the previous evening, relief in his eyes and a gentle smile twisting his lips as he looked at her. They hadn't stayed up for long, but long enough for the strange tension of that evening to melt away into something more comforting, more familiar.

She looked around for any sign as to where he'd gone, only to notice what looked like a scrawled note wedged underneath an empty wine bottle on the table next to her. Leaving a note in such a fashion hardly seemed like Armand d'Alarie's style, so she doubted it was the promised directions to their lunch appointment. All things considered, there was only one likely author, the single wine stain left on the page practically serving as a signature in itself. Sure enough, the note was written in an ever-characterful and hastily scrawled cursive.

_I hope the morning finds you well, cousin. I've gone out to explore the city away from the palace, and will likely not be back before the evening's 'festivities'. No need to worry! Try not to fall asleep during lunch, and I look forward to seeing you later,_

_Constantin_

She sighed even as she absentmindedly stroked her finger across the signed name, making a mental note to ask Kurt if he could scope out the local taverns in search of her wayward cousin before he got into some kind of trouble, though in truth she'd be much happier joining him as opposed to suffering through an inevitably awkward lunch with d'Alarie. She pictured Constantin rising early that morning, full of energy as ever as he bounded out of the door, eager to escape his responsibilities if even for a moment. At least she knew her likely dance partner for that evening, unlike Constantin. He'd doubtless be accosted by countless noble suitors, all eager to see the son of the mighty Prince d'Orsay for themselves, and even more eager to impress him. The near-certainty that none of them were destined to leave more than even a fleeting impression on him was an uncannily satisfying thought.

A sudden loud knock at the door jolted her out of her thoughts, the sound cutting through her aching head like cannon fire.

"One moment!" she called, quickly stuffing Constantin's note into her pocket as she reluctantly hauled herself up from the armchair.

Armand d'Alarie was not high up on her list of who she'd expected to see when she pulled open the door. Her surprise must have shown on her face, as his expression quickly shifted from polite interest to blatant sheepishness. “Forgive me, my lady, I thought it better manners to accompany you myself rather than send a note ahead," he said.

It was a struggle not to give him a sceptical glance. She'd been convinced that it was mid-morning, several hours before their midday arrangement.

"I thought we could take a walk together before lunch," he continued. "Though I understand that I should've sent word, doubtless you are not quite ready-"

She decided to spare them both any further discomfort by cutting him off before he said something regrettable again. "No, no, it's fine, just give me a few minutes," she said, stepping aside and gesturing for him to pass. "I feel strange asking you to do so in your own home, but please, make yourself comfortable."

He stepped into the room, giving her a smile that was more relieved than grateful. "These rooms are reserved for guests alone, I can't claim to have spent any time here prior to now."

Clearly his father had never been so serious about making a match for him before. She wondered how much of that was a result of his status as a first-born son; as heir, he'd be an objectively desirable match for decades to come, a rush engagement was completely unnecessary when a more advantageous bride could enter society at any moment. Perhaps Constantin would also receive that treatment, though that also made her wonder just how different their lives would've been if his elder half-brother had survived.

She left d'Alarie standing near the room's largest, ugliest portraits and quickly went next door to drag a comb through her hair and ensure it was out of her face, only to look at herself in the mirror and sigh. Not even the most ardent of admirers could say she didn't look exhausted, and she resigned herself to the fact that she'd have tired eyes to rival Constantin's after his heaviest nights of drinking by the end of the day.

"My lady?" came d'Alarie's voice from the other side of the door.

Elise rolled her eyes. Would it kill the man to be patient? "Yes I know, I won't be a moment!" It was becoming more and more of a task to keep her voice free of irritation when talking to him.

"It's not that - your master-of-arms is asking for you."

Oh. Well, that certainly saved her the detour of going over to the barracks. Lo and behold, Kurt stood waiting just in from the hallway, watching d'Alarie's back warily. "If I could speak with Lady de Sardet alone, my lord," he said, more of a statement than a question.

d'Alarie looked slightly confused but inclined his head in acquiescence nonetheless. "Of course. I'll be waiting outside whenever you're ready, my lady."

Kurt waited until the door was firmly shut before speaking quietly. "He's keen."

Elise groaned. "I'm well aware, and damned if I know why. I haven't exactly made the best of impressions so far."

"Did something happen yesterday?" asked Kurt, sounding wary.

She decided against telling him about the awkwardness of that evening, it wasn't anything that couldn't be easily clarified, after all. "Not as such, but there is something I wanted to ask you this morning-"

"If this is about Constantin, then that's exactly what I'm here to tell you. Couple of my men spotted him wandering around town by himself a few hours ago, I told them to keep tabs on him without blatantly following him around."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Nicely done. As much as I want him safe, he certainly deserves the time for himself before our ordeal this evening. I envy him, to be honest."

"By the way you two go on I'll have a much better time than either of you," he said tiredly. "And I'll be the one getting bored stiff standing by the doors."

"If you were anyone else, I'd offer to slip you a drink, but I know you wouldn't take it."

Kurt rolled his eyes heavensward before fixing her with an exasperated look that was usually reserved for Constantin alone. "And you've been spending far too much time with your cousin."

Considering the intentions of the man waiting outside, she wished she could spend even more.

\--

Kurt did her the favour of walking with them until they reached the entrance of the gardens, bidding them farewell with a wordless look to Elise that told her he wouldn't be far. d'Alarie certainly didn't seem the type to try anything unsolicited or even untoward, but the sentiment was a comfort nonetheless.

The young lord didn't offer up an arm as they strode into the walled garden, much to her surprise, preferring to keep his hands firmly behind him in the manner of a guardsman as he looked around with a soft smile.

"It may not be the scale of what you're used to in Sérène, but this place has always been a comfort to me," he said quietly.

It was certainly easy to see why. Indeed, it seemed far smaller than Sérène's gardens, like everything in Castile, but if anything nature seemed more in its element, the flowers wilder, the alcoves not so deliberately placed.

"It's lovely," she replied, in all honesty. "I've always adored Sérène's gardens, but my favourite places in it have always been the parts less-"

d'Alarie raised a brow. "Arranged?"

"Yes, exactly," she answered, continuing before she could think better of it, "My cousin and I always tried to find the most out-of-the-way parts of the garden, especially when we were children."

"Oh? It gladdens me to hear that, my lady." If the mention of Constantin irked him, he didn't show it. "Did you have a favourite spot? If that's not too private, of course-"

It undoubtedly was too private, especially for a man she'd known for merely a day. "Erring on the side of, perhaps," she allowed herself. "But we often went to sit by a lone tree on the very outskirts of the gardens, where it was quiet."

"That sounds wonderful. It must be like your own little sanctuary, far away from the stresses of court."

She thought it passing strange how he could approach a conversation with such careless ineptitude, yet occasionally be so accurate in his assessments.

He didn't seem to notice her silence as he continued, wearing a strangely wistful smile. "I envy you, actually. I wasn't lucky enough to have anyone in the household that I was particularly close to growing up."

"I'm surprised, are there no other noble families in the city?"

"Of course there are. Just none that I could claim to have the talent to talk to." He sounded embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed. "I imagine it's already evident that my skills in conversation can be… somewhat lacking."

At that moment she genuinely felt a little sorry for him, despite her undeniable bias against the man. "If it's any consolation, I didn't exactly have many friends growing up either, besides Constantin," she said, watching his face carefully. "Other noble children were nice enough to me, with exceptions of course, but I'd rather forgo their company in favour of a long walk, or a good read in peace."

"But not Lord d'Orsay's?"

She'd dearly hoped the conversation wouldn't drift towards her cousin; the previous evening had been stilted enough, yet she didn’t think she’d have to avoid mentioning him entirely. "With all due respect, my lord, he's not just another noble at the palace, he's my cousin," she answered, praying her exasperation didn't bleed into her words. "Do you not have any other family besides your father? I don't recall you mentioning any in your letters." Perhaps it teetered on the edge of insensitivity, but that was a risk she was willing to take to haul the conversation back to safe waters.

d'Alarie's discomfort only seemed to deepen, and she felt privately vindicated that she wasn't the only one. "Ah, no, I don't. My mother died some twelve years ago, so it's just been my father and me ever since."

An almost mirror image of her own parents, but she thought better of telling him so. "I'm truly sorry to hear it."

"Thank you. I consider myself lucky, actually. She passed away when I was seventeen years of age, so I had the privilege of spending my entire childhood with her, may she rest in peace."

Certainly better than having not known a parent at all, or having them tolerate your presence at best and utterly loathe you at worst. She knew she was being spiteful and unfair, knew his relative isolation went some way to explain his awkwardness. Yet that harsher part of her thought it a small wonder that he hadn't brought up something like the mark on her face in a fit of innocent but insensitive naivete, though there was still time for him to live up to the example of all those kind noble children.

Their path eventually led them to a small table, already laden with refreshments, in what was presumably the centre of the garden. It was a gorgeous location by all rights; from the elegant yet simplistic chairs, the comfortable size of what was effectively a clearing, to the most striking of all; the way the trees spread their branches protectively above and over the table. It culminated in what was an undeniably intimate atmosphere, one that would only become more so as the day went on, bringing warmer evening light in its wake. Perhaps she'd have the time to bring Constantin over the next few days, after dinner, if they were ever free enough from their obligations with others.

She sat down quickly before her chair could be gallantly pulled out for her, but not too hastily as to be noticed, she hoped. d'Alarie sat opposite her with no complaint or hesitation, pouring himself a cup of something steaming. He raised the pot in a familiar gesture, the question on his face.

It was most likely just tea, but the unusually red hue begged the question. "What is it?" she asked.

"Just tea, my lady," d'Alarie answered. "Nothing so exotic as to come from that new island to the west, I fear. Courtesy of the East, by way of the Bridge Alliance, by way yet again of your good Sérène."

Harmless enough. "Then yes, thank you. Though I don't think I've had this particular one before."

d'Alarie poured her a cup and gently nudged it across the table. "The name escapes me, but it's said the Bridge began importing it due to its medicinal qualities."

She took a tentative sip and sighed as a smooth sweetness touched her tongue. "And Sérène for its taste, I should imagine."

"Ah, that I don't doubt!" he laughed. "I often think we- the Congregation that is, must look almost frivolous when compared to our neighbours."

"Oh? How so?" The answer was obvious, yet she couldn't help but be curious as to how he'd word it, and what new manner of hole he'd manage to dig himself into.

"Hmm, well I-" Evidently he hadn't expected to be asked for an elaboration. "The Bridge have their exemplary doctors of course, and Thélème has their religion, their strict moral codes. The Congregation has neither, only its wit in trade."

"And a keener grasp on diplomacy, I should hope," she rebutted, keeping her voice level. "It's no simple task to remain allies with nations that are constantly at each other's throats."

d'Alarie returned to his apparently typical sheepish state. "Right you are, my lady. I shouldn't forget that you're presumably under the tutelage of the finest teachers in the Congregation!"

Empty praise, considering that she'd merely stated the obvious. "You flatter me, though I'll be sure to pass your regards to our tutor when we return to Sérène."

"I take it that Lord d'Orsay and yourself share a teacher, then?"

“Yes, we do.” If she didn't know better she would've thought he was more interested in Constantin than her, from the way he seemed to latch onto almost every mention of him. "It's stressed that we learn the finer points of diplomacy and trade, those being the key aspects upon which the Congregation thrives." While true, the words sounded foreign on her lips, as if she was nothing more than her uncle's ambassador. Constantin would doubtless shudder at the very idea.

"Forgive me for saying so, my lady, but it does make me wonder what role your family has in mind for you."

For all his traits, she hadn't pictured him as such a traditionalist. "Should I not be well-educated?"

"No! I mean, yes- there's no reason why you shouldn't be a deeply intelligent woman!" he stressed, looking more uncomfortable with every passing second. "It's merely that it made me think of something your cousin said yesterday, at dinner."

Something unfurled inside her, spreading fear into her chest and down her every limb. _Tread very carefully, my lord._ "I don't follow."

d'Alarie avoided her gaze, looking anywhere but into her eyes. "That he'd be utterly lost without you, I think he said. You've the education of a future ruler, not a consort."

Perhaps she'd severely underestimated him, failed to look past the blunder and see the exact kind of astuteness she didn't want him to have. Unless-

"I don't claim to know the mind of the Prince d'Orsay, but it seems like your potential betrothal to me was never anything more than a fleeting suggestion by your uncle, one that was never destined to go any farther than it has."

Unless her lips weren't the only ones speaking someone else's words. "I really don't know what you're-"

d'Alarie clenched his fists on the table between them, his hands scant inches from her own. "My lady, I am not my father. Nor are you your uncle. But it's clear to us that you were never intended to simply be another man's wife. You are, and always have been, intended as Constantin d'Orsay's right hand."

The mounting dread in her chest finally began to subside. She'd known that, of course, but had always assumed that the Prince d'Orsay intended to use her as a pawn for two purposes. Far from the man to let such a valuable piece fall short of its potential. "With all due respect my lord, the two need not be mutually exclusive."

"That's not how my father sees it, I'm afraid," Ah, so it was his father speaking. "But-" he paused, all the better for Elise to hear the resumption of her heart pounding in her ears. "Though a delicate subject, I have a suggestion that you may find… appealing."

She knew she should cut him off, to stop him from going down that path before he could even start, but curiosity held her tongue. It could be something else entirely, something completely unrelated to anything between them, an innocent suggestion that would merely make her life easier to manage-

d'Alarie ploughed on, speaking so quickly she could barely keep up. “While there are many who would undoubtedly disagree, I do not believe that a primarily political union should stop those involved finding solace in those they love. A wife of mine would be welcome to continue those interests, if she so wished. Even if others would find that interest objectionable."

His strange fixation on Constantin, the chilling awkwardness of the previous evening, even the aborted kiss to her hand at their arrival, the latter stopped short by what was undoubtedly an icy look from her cousin. Meaningless in isolation, but those strands had come together to create a brush that could be used to damn her with.

“My lord, if I follow correctly, I daresay you’ve got completely the wrong impression of-"

d'Alarie held up his hands to interrupt. "Please, there's no need to insist, you'll find no judgement from me." _Oh, you foolish man._ "Nor do I intend to tell any other. Though you may wish to… ask for more subtlety. Not all will be so amenable to look away."

"It's not true," she said, and oh, how she hated the way her voice shook, if only slightly. Woe betide her for showing this man even the slightest bit of weakness. "If you'll allow me to say as much, you should be more careful in what you insinuate." Would it have been so difficult for him to just keep his mouth shut, to not speak of something that anyone with the slightest amount of sensitivity would eschew at all costs? She loathed herself for being so right as to warn Constantin about being so affectionate, as much as she never wanted those endearments to stop leaving his lips. The very idea of imploring that he tone himself down even more made her blood run cold.

"Truly? But-" his gaze darted around manically, searching for some kind of answer in the clearing until something finally seemed to click. He froze in one sudden, accursed moment that plunged mercilessly right into her chest. " _Oh,_ " he murmured, eyes snapping up in an instant, and in them, she saw the shameful truth she'd spent years trying to deny. To think, that of all the people who could possibly hold the key to her ruin, it was he who had the honour.

His eyes widened as she leaned forward in her chair, pinning him without even a touch. "Do you truly think I would be such a fool to risk everything I hold dear like that?" she murmured, letting anger lace itself in her words at long last. "I am no amateur, my lord. I know how this cruel game is played."

His answering silence unsettled her deeply. People at court didn't give such so-called warnings to be good for the sake of it, not in her experience, not in her lifetime. It took all her will to continue, to keep her gaze ever unflinching. "The question I pose to you is this: Why, of all that you could gain by using this against me, do you instead choose to do what you see as helping me?"

d'Alarie looked as exhausted as she'd ever seen him during their already overlong acquaintance. "You're not the only one who's tired of being manipulated, prodded and manoeuvred around the board," he said, voice riddled with a bitterness she hadn't thought him capable of. "I don't even have your restraint, let alone your diplomatic talents. Affectionate memory for my mother is the only thing stopping my father from seeing me as nothing but the pawn I am. I would not consign any other to such a fate."

She thought of how her mother withdrew further into herself with each passing day, of the whispers that accompanied her every time she turned her face, but most of all, oh, most of all, of Constantin's painful refusal to meet her eyes after meeting with his father, the light in his eyes slowly seeping away.

Perhaps that sorry fate was already theirs.

\--

Her mind gave her no mercy. As soon as she took her leave from d'Alarie that afternoon she was assaulted by possibility after possibility, each more impossible than the last. She'd been so convinced that the man was by nature unobservant, ignorant of any kind of subtlety that could come his way, yet somehow he'd seen in her what she'd painstakingly repressed for years. A dam had broken in her mind at the first outsider's recognition, the vaguest mention of her deepest secret shattering the walls she'd long built around her shame. It felt like an otherworldly miracle for him to have rendered no judgement, no disgust. How tempting it was to take his words at face value and believe them wholeheartedly, and think that there could ever be a future for them that didn't end in bloodied disaster.

The reasons why they couldn't be together were legion, there was no denying. Even where their familial relation wouldn't be met with abject disgust, there would still hang the scandal of an affair, and what would be mere disapproval for most would be a far crueller sentence for royalty. The Prince d'Orsay would undoubtedly be the harshest judge of them all: even if he did truly love his son deep down, he would never accept the most intolerable failure of his two most valuable pieces, stripped of all worth and utility. And even if she alone was disgraced and cast out, where would that leave Constantin but alone and friendless in a world that would sooner have his head than crown him ruler of the Congregation in his father's stead?

Thoughts still raced uncontrollably in her head when she walked back to their quarters in the late afternoon, the reception room just as she'd left it. The relief she felt at Constantin's absence was almost enough to make her believe in the Enlightened, with not even the slightest hint that he'd returned ahead of her. She wouldn't go so far as to say she ran and crumpled onto her bed, but she'd be damned if it was a close thing. Her hands shook where they gripped the sheets even as she willed herself to regain her composure, feelings torn between apprehension and an inexplicable sense of excitement that made her knuckles whiten as she lost her grip on her feelings. He could walk in on her in that very moment and she wouldn't even be able to stop herself from thinking about dragging him over there and then, utterly out of sorts as she was, desperate to grip the sheets in another way entirely. Never before had she indulged herself to think about him like that while she sought relief, nor would she start; she knew full well that once that door was opened it would be far beyond her restraint to close it again, no matter how much lay at stake.

She spent no telling how long simply sat on her bed, willing herself to calm down. It was only when a servant called to ask whether she needed help with her dress that evening that she remembered that time hadn't stalled to a halt just because she had. The offer of assistance went politely dismissed. Having someone touch her in private, however innocently, was the last thing she needed that evening when it was all that she could do to try and ignore the way she ached. Constantin's continued absence stopped being such a comfort as the hours slipped by, the dark outside the window finally forcing her to retreat back into her room to dress herself. She didn't even have the energy to glower at her dress as she took it out from the wardrobe, preoccupied as she was, whether with concern or doomed longing.

Her comfortable day clothes went unceremoniously on to the bed after she'd carefully slipped out of them, slowly as to not jolt her already oversensitive skin. The heavy skirt was simple enough, one layer secured over another slighter one, already attached to the bodice of the dress. She forewent the folded overskirt entirely, having not had any experience of fastening one herself before, but also because she'd probably end up stabbing herself in the thigh with the way her hands still shook. Since she'd left her undergarments on unchanged, the only thing that remained was to lace the bodice at the back, a task easier said than done. The first few sets were simple enough, she thought, until the ties reached the centre of her back and she swore. After several more fruitless attempts at threading the upper parts, she pressed herself against the door in a desperate bid to steady her body enough to finish the damn thing.

She twisted her arms to her back again, only for the accursed string to slip out of her hands once more. "Oh, _damn it!_ " she cursed.

"Cousin?"

 _Hell_. She hadn't even heard him enter the other room.

"Are you alright, cousin?" Constantin repeated, his voice still muffled through the door.

"Fine, fine," she answered. That her voice came out calm and level was a miracle unto itself. "Just doing up this dress, it's putting up something of a fight."

His soft chuckle was the most wonderful sound she'd heard all day. "Don't ladies usually have people around to help with that?" he said, his smile clear in the shape of his words.

How that grin was infectious even through a solid door, she'd never know. "Most ladies usually have more practice at this sort of thing," she reminded him.

There was no answer for a moment, but then he spoke, hesitance curling like a vice around every sound: "I could… help you, perhaps?"

Her heart lurched. The response should've been easy; if she'd declined the help of the servants due to her mind being in tatters, then by all rights should she turn him down in an instant, as the very cause of her condition. Yet she found herself needing, demanding his undivided attention, if but to prove to herself once and for all that anything between them would never be easy to hide, and to remind herself of the strength of her restraint.

She slowly opened the door in lieu of an answer, her other hand clutched to her chest to stop the bodice from slipping down. Constantin had apparently been leaning against the door, as he lost his footing somewhat before hastily straightening up to meet her gaze. Apparent too was that he'd already dressed for the evening, unless he'd spent the entire day in a well-fitted jacket the same blue as the darkest night sky, its stars in the form of elegant gold trimmings.

"That would be helpful, if you really wouldn't mind," she said, in what she hoped was a reasonable impression of composure.

He looked very much akin to a deer at the end of an arrow in answer, surprise writ plain across his handsome face. However brief, the weight of his gaze as it dragged across her collarbone was so tangible that she suppressed a shudder.

Green eyes returned to hers before they could stray any further, but his neckline wasn't high enough to hide how he swallowed. "If you're certain!" he replied, smiling warmly at her as he cautiously stepped into the room. "I do warn you though, I don't claim to be an expert in dressing people. Myself included, so I'm told."

She frowned. Not once had she noticed anything unduly scruffy about the way he dressed, without counting his attire after an evening at the tavern. She was about to tell him so when she saw him pluck a familiar scrap of paper from the bed and turn to her, an eyebrow raised. "A note from an admirer?"

"Nothing interesting, I assure you," she said, a smirk slowly curling her mouth. "Merely my dear but foolish cousin getting himself into trouble yet again."

Constantin turned and spread his arms with his usual theatrical flair. "Do I not stand before you hale and hearty as ever, fair cousin?"

That he did. His cheeks were pleasantly flushed, only slightly redder than the defined bow of his lips, making him look healthy, intoxicated and tempting all at once. It wasn't the first time she'd been struck by how easy he was to talk to, but that he remained so after the day she'd had was nothing short of a delight.

" _This time_ you do," she answered. "Though you must realise you needn't have signed it. The wine stain was signature enough-" Her stomach lurched as her bodice slipped slightly under her hand, rudely reminding her as to why he was actually in her bedroom in the first place. If only they would not be missed. "I'm sorry, could you-"

The grin slipped from Constantin's face in an instant as he flushed ever deeper. "Ah, indeed. Just the top part, was it?"

"Yes, thank you." She turned around, her back to Constantin and face to a long, ornate mirror. Her eyes closed of their own accord as he slowly stepped closer, the gentle warmth of his breath brushing her ear before his hands tenderly touched her back. The earlier, fiery ache steadily rekindled itself, but was soothed and caressed by the feeling of contentment, not urgently fanned by desperate panic.

"Tell me when it feels right," he said, just louder than a whisper.

Oh, how it already did, the tips of his fingers sweetly stoking that fire as he worked, only stalling when the slightest sigh slipped past her defences and into the room's heated air. All things considered, the one drinking that day may just as well have been her.

The dress tightened around her one last time and she finally opened her eyes to see Constantin staring at her in the mirror, his eyes dark and so very telling. They were close enough in height that it would be so easy for him to bend just so and gently rest his chin on the exposed, sensitive skin between her neck and shoulder in a gesture of unparalleled intimacy.

She couldn't resist asking the most obvious question of all. "How does it look?"

A deep, shuddering exhale fanned across her back. "You look nothing short of a delight for the eyes, cousin," he murmured, his gaze not leaving hers even for a moment. "But I must admit, it is rather like you've been dressed by my dear mother."

"The very height of flattery, I'm sure," she scoffed, though he wasn't wrong. The dark, jewel green of the dress was a flattering colour, one she often favoured, even, but the fit was so utterly foreign to her, something that she'd usually have to be forced into practically at gunpoint. "Perhaps it's all the more reason for the damsel in distress to stand on his own two feet tonight. I certainly won't be able to pull you out of any fires dressed like this."

Constantin's eyes glinted. He still hadn't moved from just behind her shoulder, to both her unease and her satisfaction. "I assure you, the only thing in distress will be some poor girl's feet as I distractedly step on them."

She turned her head to indulge him in an affectionately exasperated look in reply, unencumbered by the reflection. "So long as those feet aren't mine, I think I can cope with that," she said, before turning back to the mirror with a sigh. She really did feel ridiculous, as if she was dressing up in someone else's skin entirely, that of the noble lady that Lady d'Orsay and Serene’s court had dearly wanted her to be.

"In all seriousness, what do you think would be the worst that could happen if I turned up without this damn thing on?" she mused, scratching absentmindedly at where the material rubbed against her chest.

Constantin looked nothing short of alarmed. "Well, for one thing, I think you'd be quite cold, but-"

Elise couldn't contain a laugh. For all his genuine intelligence he could be remarkably literal-minded, but even that only served to flame her affection. Though considering the context, she thought with a lurch, it was perhaps just as likely that his mind was already where it shouldn't be.

His alarm quickly turned to a flush as he caught her meaning, but he didn't look anywhere near as embarrassed as she'd seen him before. "I, uh- Well, did you have something else in mind?"

"I do have that one red jacket with me, if I remember correctly I wore it to-"

Constantin's face lit up immediately. "-My last birthday, yes? I remember as if it were yesterday!"

That didn't surprise her in the slightest. He'd showered her with attention that day, so much so that any ignorant observer would assume the celebration was for her and her alone. His every remark and every compliment was riddled with all the years they'd spent together, every hardship they'd endured. Surely it was impossible to face such single-minded devotion and not be wholly consumed by it, that honest, unrepentant intensity that was the very blood that flowed through Constantin's veins, _their_ veins. His father had punished him dearly that day, as not even his own birthday was free of obligation, obligations that he'd dared to leave unfulfilled in favour of his own happiness. The Constantin of that evening had been a tired, bitter husk of the man she knew he was, but his gaze had blazed so intently when she'd finally caught up with him that she was convinced he'd decimate all traces of ambiguity between them then and there. The world could be reduced to a fiery ash pit of death and despair, yet the look in his eyes then had told her he'd still step over its desecrated corpse to find his way back to her.

His brevity burned away to make way for that very look then, and he spoke lowly, quietly. "You should wear it, dearest cousin." The spite she knew he always felt rose so far into his throat that it was audible in his very words. "We owe them nothing."

She could do naught but nod as his fingers scorched her back once more, pulling at the ties of her dress with dazed slowness. Her chest tightened like a hangman's noose even as the dress slowly gave way under headily familiar hands, Constantin's reflection in the mirror completely transfixed by the task, well and truly lost in another world. The rational part of her mind ordered her to tell him to stop before he doomed them both to the very depths of impropriety, but that silken ache threatened to make her moan with contentment. She didn't need his help to untie it and they both knew it all too well, just as they knew there was but one thing in all the world that would make him stop.

"Constantin-" She didn't need to say it, she dare not.

His hands slowly stalled to a halt and withdrew without a single sound. Never in her life had she felt so cold so quickly, bereft of both his touch and the foolish indulgence of their unspeakable tension.

Constantin disappeared from their framed image, leaving her raw and alone in the reflection, the very picture of guilty contrition. She turned away from her sorry state to watch him rummage through her wardrobe, out of which he pulled the very red jacket in question.

"That's the one," she said quietly.

He lay it gently on her bed with no shortage of reverence, an apology that would never and should never be spoken aloud.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said instead. If only they lived in that world she tried so hard not to imagine. There they would never have to pander to anyone, to hide themselves for anything. There they would be free to feel what they wished for whoever they wished. There she'd never have to ask him to stop, only to spend the evening in the company of another man.

Constantin made his way to the door before he spoke again, his tone so uncharacteristically subdued that it threatened to break her. "Is he coming to escort you?" he asked.

It was always a struggle to hide anything from him. "Yes, I suppose that was the arrangement,” she managed to answer, fighting against the way her throat seemed to constrict with every passing minute. But that if it were not so, if they could arrive arm-in-arm once more, without any damnable need to part for the narrow sensibilities of others.

His expression was so indescribably sad that deeming it a smile would be a singular degree of madness entirely, one that she never wanted to ascribe to. "Well then, I'll endeavour not to step on your toes, my fair cousin."

 _I wish you could_ , she thought when he'd closed the door softly behind him. _My fair cousin. Mine._ He'd always been possessive, and it'd always wracked her mind in the most shamefully addictive way. She hoped beyond reason that he knew that for every step in d'Alarie's arms, every touch of their hands, she'd be wishing that they were his. The reflection in the mirror only dared to show what could have been when she looked back at it, his arms around her waist, his lips pressing sweetly but mercilessly against her throat. All shattered under her fist as she plunged it into the mirror, splintering the images into the thousand pieces they should've always remained. She barely even felt the blood drip down her hand as she allowed herself to weep at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter ended up being far longer than i'd anticipated, therefore i've added a fair few more parts to what i'd initially had planned. this means that Constantin now gets the part i've been most looking forward to posting in his POV, and he also now gets three chapters in a row, if i actually manage to stick to my plan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You do realise you could just answer him yourself? It's not usual that I do more talking than you, especially at parties.” 
> 
> “At _fun_ parties, cousin. This is not a fun party, this is some kind of torturous exercise specifically designed to make its guests feel new, unparalleled heights of boredom and irritation."

Constantin took great care in closing her bedroom door gently, a feigned serenity that melted away as soon as he let the outer door slam behind him. He knew he'd overstepped as soon as he'd offered to help her, had fully anticipated her telling him that no, she'd be fine on her own. Yet she'd defied his every expectation and stepped aside, her eyes full of something turbulent and impossible. Undressing her, if even for a moment, was only ever something he'd dared to fantasise, never thinking for a moment that he'd actually get to indulge in his insanity, to feel her shudder at his fingertips, hear her breath hitch just so. If not for that desperate murmur of his name from her lips he would've delighted in unravelling her completely, above all ridding her of the awful dress that looked as if it'd been ripped straight from his mother's wardrobe. She was the very last person that deserved to be imprisoned in that stifling prison of courtly expectations, a ghastly gaol that threatened to choke the life from all it touched. 

He found himself endlessly glad that the corridors were deserted, a rare stroke of mercy that meant he could keep his guard down for just a little while longer. An intoxicating haven always awaited him in his imagination, free for him to flee to when he could resist his affliction no more. Those sweet images of them intertwined together had haunted his fantasies for so long that he'd forgotten what it felt like not to ache for her, if such a time had ever even existed. If only he'd had the cause to slip soft, silken gloves over her hands, a perfect guard against anyone else who would dare touch her skin, gentle yet definitive. 

Their hands hadn't lingered in the other's, not truly, since they were much younger, when he'd grasp her hand and all but drag her from the other children, tired of their boring company and endless snide remarks. Calluses to match his own had begun to form on her otherwise soft hands, marked but never marred as he folded their fingers together. They'd found their favourite spot on one such day; that old, comforting tree welcoming them with open arms into their own private world away from everyone and everything else, especially those who would dare mock her for the mark that curled ever so prettily around her familiar face. The aversion that others seemed to have for it had always been a complete and utter mystery to him. It was simply just another indelible part of her, and anything that made her who she was would always be nothing short of captivating. 

He'd touched it just once before out of sheer curiosity, the tips of his fingers brushing against that rough warmth, only for her to flinch away from him like she'd been struck, as if he'd ever lay a hand on her like that. It made him wonder what exactly had been said to her about it, and which of their so-called friends had made her feel so ashamed of something so beautiful. Perhaps d’Alarie had found the gall to say something of the sort to make her act so strangely that evening, if not through malice then certainly by ignorance. Elise's walls were built tall by both nature and circumstance, her restraint so carefully crafted that she could talk him out of nigh-on anything without even the slightest hint of deception in her countenance. A mere slight could never breach her armour, those she was used to, which left very few possibilities indeed as to the cause of her disquiet. 

Some primal part of him really did want it to be the other man's fault, for him to have offended her so completely that it demanded retribution. He imagined lashing out and striking the lesser lord for his audacity, abandoning any loathsome arrangements and stealing her away somewhere that she’d be appreciated, adored. All options that proper decorum had smugly barred to him. She’d arrive on the man's arm, as was expected of her, and he’d smile benignly as the flock of silly hats and ridiculous dresses tittered their approval at the match. 

He knew he should’ve found his own partner for the evening, but the war between duty and reprieve had tipped firmly in favour of the latter, as it so often did. The need for escape was urgent in the wake of his cousin’s plans for the day, demanding he find solace from the burning jealousy that seared him raw from the inside out, envy for anyone who had the privilege of not being related to his adorable cousin. He didn't begrudge their life together for anything in the world, but he'd tried and monumentally failed to suppress the resentment at how he would never be able to adore her openly the way he so desperately longed to. Especially if even such casual anecdotes of affection caused such alarm. That a mere throwaway comment could betray him so was an outrage; and if there was any god in the world, he counted himself beyond thankful that mind-reading was not magic he'd ever encountered. A cruel world indeed would be the one in which courtiers and priests could wield darkest secrets like honed weapons, even when their battered victims hadn’t said a damn word. Crueller still was a world where he was not the only one to suffer for it.

\--

The grand hall was as perfumed and stifling as he’d imagined, made all the worse by the grating buzz of endless chatter from its dreary occupants, who unfortunately all turned to watch him as he entered. 

Constantin tried not to grimace at the herald’s grating voice as he droned out his name for all to hear. "Introducing His Highness Constantin of House Orsay, son of - " 

He ignored the rest entirely. Son of a miserable old man who at that moment was likely sat in the study he barely left, ruminating on how best to get rid of his disappointing remaining child once and for all. The assorted balding lords of the evening would no doubt mention his father every other sentence; extolling the unparalleled magnanimity and impeccable manners that Constantin had never bore witness to in all his years. The only one he knew with due claim to such lofty praise had yet to appear, perhaps for the better. Her absence at least gave him time to put his thoughts into some semblance of order, unless -

"I say, Your Highness!" 

Unless he was accosted by a flock of harried-looking courtiers before he could have the chance. He sighed. One would think that, as the highest-ranking nobleman in the room, that he'd have a small measure of choice as to his activities that evening, though one glance at the beckoning figure of the elder Lord of Castile told a very different story. Constantin repressed an exasperated sigh as he smiled blandly back at the man and the rest of his herd, ensuring he plucked a much-needed glass of wine from a servant’s tray as he walked over. He could be forgiven that vice, at least.

Lord d'Alarie clapped an overfamiliar hand on his shoulder as he approached the group of posturing idiots, all of whom were guaranteed to be as unremarkable in personality as they were in appearance. Constantin groaned inwardly as he realised he was about to be introduced to the sorry lot. The herald at the door really need not bother with the entrances if he'd have to endure the whole ordeal several times anyway. 

d'Alarie's hand still hadn't left his shoulder. "Gentlemen - and lady," he said, smiling at the lone woman of the group; a short, dark-haired girl dressed in what was probably the most eye-searing yellow Constantin had ever seen, "May I introduce Constantin d'Orsay, our noble Prince's very own son."

Constantin gave what he hoped was a warm smile in recognition. "A pleasure, all of you."

"And to you, Your Highness, if you'll allow me the honour of presenting the Lords de Montfort and Chaldon, as well as my old friend Lord de Rodin and his daughter.”

Each bowed to him in turn, or curtseyed, in the case of the young lady. It was almost comical how obvious his intended partner for that evening was. The girl's father must’ve been trying for a new record in the race for the dubious title of Gacane’s Most Insufferable Courtier.

Eager to widen his lead in the contest, de Rodin took the executive decision to stick his foot in it before anyone else could have the honour. “If I may, Your Highness, you look just like your father in his youth,” the man said brightly. Just once, he'd love to be able to indulge himself in hitting whoever said such a thing, just once, with no repercussions. Perhaps then they'd realise the comparison wasn't the generous compliment they so ardently believed. The stupid man plowed on undeterred. “The hair is different, but your eyes! It's like looking back in time!”

“I'm often told that I take more after my mother, actually,” he replied, though looking like that witch would hardly be any better. “He must've looked rather different as a young man.” _Much_ younger, if their appearances could even begin to be compared.

de Rodin merely nodded. “Indeed he did. Would you believe that there was a time when he wasn’t so consumed by his work? An admirable dedication, certainly, but one that I fear has taken a toll on the poor man!”

 _The poor man._ The only thing his father seemed consumed by was making his life as miserable as possible, all from the confines of his own armchair. “Have no fear my lord, I assure you that my father remains in excellent health.” He smiled, sure to hide his gritted teeth behind his lips. “I have no doubt that Sérène and the entire Congregation would be lost without him.”

de Montfort raised his glass. "Hear, hear!" he cheered, the reddened cheeks under his thick beard declaring that it was only one of many toasts he'd made that evening. Constantin was all too glad to raise his own glass in answer, savouring both the distraction and the feel of the rich, smooth wine passing his lips. It was really rather good, even reminding him of the one he'd shared with his cousin the day the whole trip was arranged, before reality had sunk in and obligation had reared its ugly head. What he wouldn't give to be with her there again, beholding her exposed and defenceless once more as he wrapped his lips around where hers had been only moments before. 

"What do you think, Your Highness?" 

Constantin started, looking up to see the Lady de Rodin looking up at him expectantly. He privately scolded himself; he couldn't afford to cause an upset that evening, for his cousin’s sake if nothing else. 

He carefully placed his empty glass on a passing tray before raising her gloved hand to his mouth in a perfect guise of reverent contrition. Let it not be said he lacked the talent for charm. "My sincerest apologies, my lady, I don't believe I caught your name."

The girl flushed scarlet, as expected. "Colette, Your Highness."

"Well then, I beg you continue, if you'll do me the mercy of forgiving my distraction."

"A fine vintage, isn't it?" slurred de Montfort, speaking over the girl as if she wasn’t even there. An impressive feat, considering her dress was the kind of shade his mother and her ladies told themselves was fashionable, as if that made up for the damage it did to everyone else's eyesight. 

“You know Laurent, it reminds me of the one we had when we went into the city that time-”

de Chaldon interrupted the man before he could tell his tale. A shame, as it would’ve undoubtedly been more interesting than anything else he was likely to hear that evening. “Why don’t we take a step outside, my good man?” he said, putting a hand on de Montfort’s shoulder and making to steer him away. “You can even take the wine with you!”

“It was quite an evening though, was it not? I remember that man with the red hair…” de Montfort’s voice trailed off as he was gently led away, taking any chance of a halfway amusing conversation with him. 

Colette sighed, reminding Constantin that she still hadn't said her piece. “Excuse them, they're always like this,” she said. 

“You know them well?” 

She looked strangely embarrassed at the question. “I- yes, I suppose so. Neither of them live far from my father and I, and the day you see one without the other is a day I've yet to know.”

They almost sounded like another pair he knew. “Well, drunk though he may be, he's certainly not wrong about the wine.” He thought of Elise’s indulgent smile as he'd offered it up as a gift, how she'd bitten her lip raw to stop herself from commenting on the particular misappropriated vintage in front of their family. “It reminds me of one of my very favourites, actually.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, I wouldn't know,” she said sheepishly, glancing quickly towards where her father and d'Alarie spoke in hushed, quiet tones. “Father still doesn't allow me to drink, you see.” 

Constantin imagined his own father banning him from wine and almost shuddered at the thought. Perhaps that's what his dear cousin meant when she told him that the lofty Prince d'Orsay did actually care for him, very, very deep down. Begrudgingly permitting him the one vice was clearly a perfect example of his so-called unrivalled magnanimity. 

“Evidently I find myself in disagreement with such an order,” he replied. “Really though? Not one drink?”

She shook her head. “Not one- oh!” Oh? “I'm not sure if it counts since I have no clue what was in it, but I attended my sister's wedding not long ago, and they served us the most curious drink - from that island, I think they said.”

Constantin instantly felt his interest flare at the mention of the place; an unfamiliar, exotic land, far away from the continent could surely be nothing but fascinating. “From Teer Fradee? You're certain?” 

“My brother-in-law knows Lady Morange, you see, she's the current governor of the colony.”

Yes, he'd heard mention of her during several meetings, ones that he may or may not have eagerly eavesdropped upon. A noted and talented stateswoman, one so respected by his father that he'd gone so far as to appoint her the very first governor of New Sérène, with all the privilege and challenges that entailed. 

“Have you ever met her?” he asked, likely doing a poor job of keeping his enthusiasm at bay.

“Who, Lady Morange? No, as far as I know she left for the island over four years ago now, and hasn't returned since.”

A fortunate woman then, to have the liberty to escape so far from the continent, and not even after having fallen out of favour. Honourable banishment, it sounded like, in which the lucky citizen could start fresh; anew, away from all the stifling expectations and lofty superiors who held any capacity for improvement in an unrelenting vice grip. How long must it take to get there? Weeks? Months? Certainly long enough to ensure that his parent's claws could never reach them in time.

He made to ask the girl some more; whether she'd seen anything else from the island, heard news of any grand discoveries, even something from the natives themselves. Far be it from his father to tell him anything that he truly wanted to hear, things that might actually aid him in taking over in the wake of the man’s inevitable and gratifying death. 

Yet all abandoned his mind as soon as the herald made his next announcement. He’d never turned so quickly in his life, nor could he be more grateful that no soul barred his gaze.

She looked just as handsome in red as he remembered, the halves of her jacket so much like the soft parted lips he’d always dreamed of. The warmth of her attire had slid deliciously into her cheeks and down into her smiling mouth, and he felt his own lips part with a soft sound as their eyes met across the room. 

He never heard the herald finish announcing their arrival. The only sound was his own laboured breathing that felt loud enough for the entire room to hear. Her gaze bore into his with an intensity so familiar it felt like every soft word she’d ever spoken to him, the weight of all their years together encompassed in a single look. The feelings of desire that had bled so insidiously into every childhood memory of her should’ve made him recoil in disgust, he knew. But the wracking ache he felt at her attention could be nothing but the most natural thing in the world, even as he willed himself to dampen the heady arousal that threatened every inch of his body. 

His eyes dragged down to her legs as she slowly made her way towards him. Her thighs had always been toned and muscular, a delightful consequence of all the walking and riding she took pleasure in, and the trousers she wore clung to her just perfectly, each sinuous curve writ plain in her every step. Even her boots hugged her figure like they'd been painted on, an inky black leather that would only look better if they were strewn carelessly across his bedroom floor. 

He knew that her eyes had strayed to politely greet the room; she'd always had a talent for wrapping others round her little finger, but judging by the way he felt frozen where he stood she may as well have been fixated on him alone, chaining him with his own reverence, just like the stasis that'd saved his life all those years ago. 

He'd had the pleasure of her company not an hour before, yet the smile she gave him as she drew close made him feel like he’d spent weeks bereft of her presence. 

“My lords, my lady,” she said simply, offering a short but formal bow after removing her arm from d’Alarie's, a link that Constantin had been pointedly ignoring.

He saw the slightest hint of surprise on the elder lord's face as the man took in her attire, though to his credit it went unmentioned. “Wonderful to have you with us, Lady de Sardet,” he said instead. “I daresay I don't need to introduce you to your own cousin - ” and how he didn't miss the way her eyes glinted at that. “- But I do have the honour of presenting Lord de Rodin and his lovely daughter.”

The young lady did a much poorer job at hiding her shock at the blessed lack of frock, but curtseyed nonetheless. “Colette, my lady.” Constantin thought it rather rich that a woman wearing such a horrible colour would think badly of another, who wore something far more flattering, perfectly tailored for a woman that any sane man should consider the most beautiful of the entire continent. 

It wasn't until Elise shook hands with de Rodin that he noticed it; an odd white cloth wrapped tight around her right hand, a bandage, like she'd been hurt somehow. He didn't remember it being there when he'd left her. His eyes flickered to the man who'd stolen her arm, only to find him already staring right back. It was hard to believe he'd be so confident to meet his gaze if he'd had so direct a hand in her injury, but the fact remained that he was the only one to see her after he himself had left, and the idea that she'd done it to herself implied a lack of control he knew her to be incapable of. 

His temper flared and coiled inside him before Elise caught his eye with an almost imperceptible shake of her head and a certain pointed look, the kind that they'd honed for years, the kind he'd never dream of dismissing.

She gave the group her most charming smile, one that could even con someone into forgiving her for the very worst of her atrocious dancing. “Forgive us, we must've interrupted your conversation.”

“Lady de Rodin was just telling me about the island to the west, cousin,” he said, not missing how the girl’s father raised his eyebrows at her. “Do continue, my lady! I assure you that my cousin would be most interested.”

“Oh?” Elise’s face lit up with interest, as he knew it would. “Continue indeed, please! I consider myself intrigued by the place, to say the least.”

“Oh, well-” Colette cut herself off to shoot a wary look towards her father before continuing. “I can't claim to know much, my lady, but I was telling your cousin about some drinks that were served at a wedding I attended, courtesy of Lady Morange, the governor of our colony on the island.”

It was a tall order not to glare as Elise turned to the man at her side. “Didn't you mention something of the sort earlier?”

“Perhaps, yes,” d’Alarie answered. “Though I can't promise it was one and the same.” Constantin searched his cousin’s face hopefully for any trace of displeasure at his answer, and could've audibly sworn when he couldn't find anything other than nonchalance.

Elise hummed thoughtfully as she worried the corner of her lip between her teeth. “I find it interesting that of all the families of the Congregation, somehow we're the ones that have had the least contact with the island, even over something so trivial. Don't you agree, Constantin?” The casual tone in which she spoke would imply nothing more than a throwaway musing to the undiscerning ear, but he knew better. He'd heard it enough times; during the rare occasions when they’d have lessons together, as she preemptively tried to drag him out of his latest fire, when she spoke his name in a low, sensuous warning.

“Indeed I do, cousin,” he answered, only just managing to keep the familiar endearment at bay. "I hope we can come to change that over the coming weeks, especially when we travel back towards the western ports.”

“If it's news you want then I doubt there'll be any more by then,” scoffed de Rodin, before he hurriedly schooled his expression into one with at least a thin veneer of regard. “With all due respect, Your Highness.”

He managed to tone down the glare he dearly wanted to give in favour of a frown. Even away from Sérène it seemed that the old men of their delightful country were still all too keen to treat him like a silly little boy who had no idea how time worked, let alone politics. Admittedly he'd spent no time convincing them otherwise, but in his defence, nor had they offered him any invitation.

Elise had probably felt the shift in his mood before even he had. “Shall we find ourselves a drink, Constantin? I find myself wanting the lovely wine that we had yesterday evening.” She began to lead him away as easily as if she'd grasped him by the arm. Naturally, she didn't actually need to. 

“We would be delighted to give you a casket on your departure, my lady!” d’Alarie called after them.

“Oh yes please,” Constantin murmured, for her ears only.

“That would be very welcome, my lord!” she called back, before shooting Constantin an affectionately exasperated look as they walked away from the group. “You do realise you could just answer him yourself? It's not usual that I do more talking than you, especially at parties.”

“At _fun_ parties, cousin. This is not a fun party, this is some kind of torturous exercise specifically designed to make its guests feel new, unparalleled heights of boredom and irritation."

“You seemed fine to me, before that lord decided to be extremely stupid, anyway. They seem good at that here.”

“Perhaps if that girl had something more interesting to say, though even that amount was more than we've ever been told.”

Elise frowned as they approached what was apparently an entire table dedicated to wine, faint lines appearing on her pretty face. “Yes, I noticed. Although-” She gave him a small smirk that sent a fresh jolt down his spine. “Don't think I haven't noticed you eavesdropping on your father's meetings. I doubt he'd be best pleased if he found out.” 

He scoffed. “Forgive me cousin, but I'd be surprised if he didn't already know. He just doesn't care enough to say it to my face.”

She gave him that sad look he'd always wanted to wipe off her face as gently as he could, but at least he could take comfort in the fact that she asked a servant for the wine in question instead of chastising him as anyone else would've done. 

“Regardless, I don't want to talk about my father. I want to talk about _this_.” He reached for her injured hand and gently held her wrist aloft, willing himself not to react to the way she gasped. There was even a slight but unmistakable dark stain at her knuckles. 

“Is it not my job to worry, Constantin?” she said quietly, letting him hold her for a short moment before pulling away. “A simple accident in my room, I promise you.” 

“Cousin, if he hurt you -”

“He didn't. I don't think he ever would.”

Constantin felt his jealously flare again. The only person guaranteed to never hurt her one way or another was himself, of that he had no doubt. Any world that caused her misery was not one worthy of sympathy, something only he realised.

A ghostly touch of fingertips across his cheek made him look up in an instant, only to see her giving the returning servant a charming smile as he returned with the wine, her hands nowhere near him. 

“Now, what _I_ want to talk about is where you escaped to today.”

Realistically there was no avoiding it for long, not with her. “Somewhere far more interesting than this dreary place, my dear,” he paused, debating exactly how much he should tell her of his diversions. He hadn’t lost _too_ much money after all, and so much of the game came down to the luck of the draw. “I even noticed that I’d somehow picked up some extra friends on the way!” 

“Would it surprise you to hear that I didn't actually send them?” she sighed. 

Constantin chuckled at the almost childishly disgruntled look on her face, the rare petulance only making her all the more charming. “Yes. If you were anyone else, I wouldn't believe you.”

“Well, I certainly would've done if Kurt hadn't beaten me to it.” She picked up their full glasses and pressed one into his hands. “Now, tell me what you did. I don't doubt that it was a far more enjoyable day than mine.”

He told her how he'd snuck out of the palace early in the morning; undetected, or so he'd thought. Castile really was a beautiful place outside of the stifling halls and nagging nobles, its dirtiest streets comparable to Sérène’s finest, unfettered by the smog that had come to fester in their home city like some mechanically-induced malady. He'd walked some distance before he noticed his surprise entourage, three men dressed in the extraordinary convincing disguises of three Coin Guards from Sérène. Thankfully they'd remained some distance from him the entire day, even staying outside as he explored a half-dozen of the city’s many taverns.

He was halfway through telling her about the dramatic game of cards he'd had with an impressively tattooed Naut when she finally stopped him, her expression looking disturbing like one of de Courcillion’s. “Oh Constantin,” she groaned. “Please don't tell me you were gambling…” 

He held up his hands. “Not a large amount, have no fear - but did you know the elder in a game of piquet typically scores twice the points of the younger? One of few games where the dealer is at a considerable disadvantage.”

“I would've thought the elder took the responsibility of dealing.”

“Not so in this case. A mistake to assume that the power gives you the upper hand, a mistake I regrettably made.”

“Mistake - Constantin, how much did you lose?!”

He looked into his wine and hummed. “Less value than the contents of this glass, I should imagine,” he said truthfully. “I seem to remember someone telling me to pack sparingly.” 

She breathed a sigh of apparent relief and raised her own glass to him, complete with a look of the warmest resignation. “Fine then. To your ridiculous luck, and may it never run out!”

He happily tapped his glass against hers. “My luck is all you, cousin. To your health.”

He wished he could've basked in her soft smile all evening, but their heads turned at a sudden flurry of activity from their fellow guests, swathes of them making their way to the centre of the room in pairs. 

“Ah,” he said, putting as much resentment into his tone as he could muster. “I do believe the hour of judgement is upon us, cousin.”

“Yes, it seems so.” It was a sort of relief that she sounded just as tired as he was. “I imagine the others will be waiting for us.”

It struck him that if he were any other man, this would be the moment where he'd gallantly offer up his hand and ask that she grant him the honour of a dance. It would feel like the most natural thing in the world, even when she stepped on his feet. Especially when she stepped on his feet. 

_“You do realise that the point of these dances is to make connections, meet new people?”_ she'd tell him. 

_“Forgive me, my lady, I must've mistaken you for someone else! It would be my most profound honour to rectify this truly, truly terrible first impression!”_ he could answer, and marvel at the grin that would spread across her lips in spite of herself. But he had no true desire to pretend they weren't exactly who they were, and therein lay the problem. 

They finished the last of their drinks in silence, placing them down on the table in almost perfect harmony. He caught her gaze and offered up his arm without a word. She looked at it for a long, stilted moment before gently threading her arm through his, accompanied by one of the most tender looks he'd ever seen grace her face. A link to anchor him not to reality, but to the life that seeped through his fingers with every passing day. Those new lives stood waiting for them at the other side of the hall, fully prepared to tear them apart.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when your chapter reaches 10,000 words you know it’s time to cut it in half! i’m also not particularly satisfied with the latter half of this yet, so perhaps it’s for the best.
> 
> happy new year!
> 
> 11/1/21: i recently remade my tumblr account that i haven't used in years, so feel free to talk to me at zymotica.tumblr.com if you so wish


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He chanced another glance at his cousin and felt his heart lurch to see that she no longer craned her neck to look up at her partner. If he’d had the honour of her hand she would’ve found comfort in how close they were in height, as they had been for years. Neither of them would have to look anywhere but straight ahead, a perfectly equal bond that would never curse them with a pain in the neck.

The music that filled the hall was low, romantic, and far more familiar than he'd hoped. 

He'd first heard it at a party in Sérène only a few years ago, one perceived to be common enough that he'd been forced to sneak out of the palace long after dinner in order to attend. The dances he'd become so used to were showy and rehearsed, as devoid of passion as his parent's pragmatic marriage. But this one was different. It demanded intimacy in its closeness, devotion in its movements, and combined with an all-consuming focus on one's sole partner it stood unrivalled in raw sensuality, even if the woman in his arms that evening had come to wear someone else's face.

Perhaps it was the dance's nature that surprised the lady Colette to such a degree when he asked for her hand to dance. Naturally the same could not be said of her father, who'd nodded his smug ascent when the girl had turned to him for permission. Constantin doubted he'd give a whit as to the nature of the dance, so long as his daughter was in the most advantageous position possible, namely in Constantin’s own arms. 

“I almost thought you wouldn't ask,” she whispered as they began to turn together, her face far closer than he ever wanted it to be. 

_I almost wished I wouldn't have to,_ he didn't say. The crowd at the centre of the room had opened to admit them like a yawning chasm, just as deadly and twice as judgemental. Why they couldn't have just placed themselves at the very outskirts of the room he had no idea; the unrelenting gaze of so many only made the ordeal all the more insufferable, as did the looming presence of his cousin's suitor so nearby. It would be so easy and so satisfying to stomp on the bastard’s foot once and for all, just to save himself from the torture of watching her dance with him. 

He spun Colette gently outwards as obliged, watching as her yellow dress fanned elegantly around her. They'd doubtless make a handsome couple to any respectable observer, like night and day, her garish frock being that of the sun, his own dark jacket the cold midnight sky. Calm, complementary, and nothing like her burning red fire that warmed him more than all else combined.

He was both grateful and irritated that the girl remained so silent as they danced. While he had absolutely nothing of import to say to her, there was also nothing to distract him from the weight of her gaze on his face, the way her breath fluttered at every scant movement of his hand on her back, even as he tried so hard to keep it still. He made to escape her attention by fixing his eyes just to the left of her head, but fate decided to kick him soundly in the teeth by mercilessly sending his cousin right into his line of sight. She and d'Alarie seemed to be talking quickly and quietly, enough intensity in their shared gaze to make his heart clench savagely in his chest. What could they possibly have to talk about that would consume her attention so? What foul power did he have over her that deluded him into believing he had the right to be that close to her, putting hands where only his own should be? How sweet it would be to dash the man’s head against a wall, setting an example for anyone who dared believe they could tame her into being nothing more than their devoted wife.

A sharp gasp close to his ear tore him away. He looked down to see Colette staring at him with wide eyes that looked bizarrely close to fearful, her grasp stiff and rigid on his shoulder. There was a strange tension in his arm, and the slightest twitch of his fingers made him horribly aware of how he'd tightened his grip on Colette’s back, the fabric of her dress bunched cruelly in his hand. 

"Sorry," he murmured, loosening his grip and attempting to smooth down the dress without stroking her back. 

"We can sit out if you feel unwell, Your Highness, I wouldn't mind-" 

Her genuine concern only made him feel worse. "No, no, there's no need," he said hurriedly. "Just-" _harbouring murderous thoughts about my own cousin's intended._ "- distracted, is all. Forgive me."

She seemed to accept his apology, but was unmistakably stiffer under his hands as she followed his gaze. "They do make a handsome couple, don't they?" 

He'd welcomed the opportunity to talk when he'd had the pleasure of this dance before, but that was in a bawdy, unpretentious tavern, not some stuffy ballroom. And no, they didn't make a bloody handsome couple.

"Who?" he asked pointlessly. 

"Lord d'Alarie and your cousin, of course." Unsurprisingly she looked at him as if he were stupid. "My sister - the one I mentioned - always used to have a liking for him."

He raised an eyebrow. "I gather that nothing came of it?" A shame, really, though in all fairness they would've just set her up with some other lord, much to his fury.

"No, but-" she leaned further into his arms, lowering her voice to a murmur. "That isn't to say he wasn't interested."

"His father?" 

"I can't be sure. All I know is that one evening she danced the entire night with him, only to refuse to talk to anyone a week later, least of all our father."

Constantin scoffed. It was always them, the controlling, arrogant bastards bent on ruining any chances their children had at happiness. The only genuinely caring parent he knew of was his aunt, and even she could do nothing against the sheer authority of her brother. 

"We're all pawns in their game, aren't we?" he muttered, not caring to keep the bitterness at bay. He chanced another glance at his cousin and felt his heart lurch to see that she no longer craned her neck to look up at her partner. If he’d had the honour of her hand she would’ve found comfort in how close they were in height, as they had been for years. Neither of them would have to look anywhere but straight ahead, a perfectly equal bond that would never curse them with a pain in the neck. He’d never even have to bend to kiss her, only marvel that he even could. He felt himself stir as he imagined a world where his steepest challenge would be to resist the urge to smile stupidly at her when they parted, like some kind of new adolescent beholding his sweetheart for the very first time. What heaven it would be to feel her lips against his in front of all those people, their only reactions being dismissive titters at such open affection, rather than scandal and possibly even visceral disgust at those who were raised as close as siblings. 

"We are." The tone of Colette's voice called him back, her eyes shining with something far too close to pity for his liking. “I fear that’s something we can’t change.”

Those gentle tones should've been hers, for he belonged to her irrevocably, just as she did to him. He could imagine her whispering those words to him so easily, all while ensconced in his arms and making no effort to leave. He'd run bare hands down the spine he still couldn't believe he'd touched so tenderly only an hour ago, settle his hand securely in the small of her back and relish in the feel of her silent but shuddering intake of breath. And when she'd sigh his name once more it wouldn't be to tell him to stop, even once she'd pressed herself against him and felt just how much he ached for her.

He and Colette danced the rest of the piece in an uncannily weighted silence. Constantin felt as if his thoughts were inked across his face in unmistakable letters, written declarations from protective to downright vulgar. It was staggering to think that what consumed him so was nigh-on invisible to everyone else, if he dared even give himself that much credit. The lady Rodin unwittingly danced with a half-spectre of a man, one who existed far more in the realms of fantasy and far-flung possibility than anywhere on solid ground.

His mind still swam and his chest still contorted as the musicians played their last notes. By the time he’d replied to Colette’s elegant curtsy with a bow, he may as well have been moved as a miserable puppet on worn strings, stretched far beyond their breaking point.

The world seemed to drop out from under him when she looked back up. The pity in those eyes had been joined by something far worse. Pity, however unwelcome, could be dealt with. Revelation, on the other hand, was ruinous. 

"I'd like to rest my feet for this next set, Your Highness," she said. "If that is acceptable to you."

He could barely hear himself think, let alone answer. "Yes, of course," someone else seemed to reply, hazy and distant. The only action he could even begin to entertain was escape. "If you'll excuse me."

He gave her one last bow and practically ran for a pair of large doors without looking back, where arched glass windows revealed the solace of a large stone balcony. The guards opened the doors for him without a word, and he staggered out into crisp, cold air that washed over him in a wave. In any other circumstance it would feel like sleep itself, a relaxing stupor that would’ve held the rest of the world at bay, if the worst of it was not so determined to worm its way into his mind and tear him apart from the inside out.

The stone of the balustrade was cool and tactile against his bare hands, and though little could be seen of Castile amid the evening's darkness, he could still taste the freshness in the air, felt it seep into his chest to nestle alongside the roiling waves of desire that refused to subside. It was a travesty that a sorely-needed respite from Sérène’s clutches had been so sullied by the usual pageantry he loathed, and even more so by the treachery of his own mind. No doubt he’d already ruined any chance they could’ve had to explore the city together by running off alone earlier that day, knowing it was irresponsible just as keenly as he knew it was necessary. She’d accompanied him on a few of his excursions in Sérène before, naturally, but never when they’d had far more serious obligations to attend to. That dedication was as much a blessing as it was a curse, as much a cause for admiration as it was for resentment. Yet even that had him pressing himself against the stone at the thought of her resolute looks of determination, forcing him to sigh at the slightest flicker of relief it gave. Who needed that accursed disease to find its way into his veins when he was already so infected?

“Your Highness?”

He jolted and turned to see the familiar form of Kurt darkening the doorway to the hall, as ever donned in uniform, though without the usual companion of his hat. The use of his title alone would've been indication enough that it wasn't her; the much lower voice need not be taken into consideration at all, yet somehow he found himself still needing to dampen his disappointment. Her absence was something he'd have to grow accustomed to, the definitive end of their long childhood together that would rob him of the one he adored above all.

But their master-at-arms was a good man, and not one that he was in the habit of directing his ire towards. The man was probably just as tired as he was, if not so wholly tormented by damned yearning. Constantin forced himself to smile instead, and watched the concern melt from Kurt’s face, doubtless as it was to be replaced by exasperation soon enough.

“I trust that door duty is treating you well?” he asked, a stupid question that predictably prompted an exaggerated roll of the eyes. “If it's any consolation, I assure you that you're having a much better time than I am.” 

Kurt approached him slowly, stopping short of leaning on the balustrade but stepping within what he'd call proximity reserved for friends; or at least those who'd had the misfortune to have known him for so long. Constantin kept himself pressed against the cold stone and tried to will his body back to reality before the man noticed his predicament.

“With all due respect, Your Highness, would it have been so difficult to cause some kind of trouble this evening?” said Kurt, before holding up his hands with a wry smile. “Don't get me wrong, it doesn't need to be a regular thing, but even dealing with your messes is preferable to sitting on my arse for hours.”

Constantin barked a bitter laugh that scratched painfully against his throat. He doubted Kurt would appreciate the particular fire he wanted to light. “My good man, let me take this opportunity to welcome you to the enthralling world of courtly life!” he spat, ignoring the other man’s shock at his venom. “What shall your poison be this evening; plotting out your next assassination or whoring out your own children?!”

He didn't know whether it was duty or sense that ensured Kurt’s answering silence, only that it wasn’t enough to stop his resentment forcing him onwards, commanding him to speak far more than his due. “Tell me, have you ever known how much it hurts to have everything you've ever wanted dangled in front of you for years, only to have it snatched from you in what feels like an instant?” It was so tempting to lay it out explicitly, to tell him, tell _someone._ That inexplicable urge that defied all logic, the sheer wracking desire for even one person to see him for what he truly was, before his few remaining slivers of rationality regained control once more. “It's like he _knows_ , has seen fit to torture me with it until I’m all but broken, the pathetic, failed heir he's always made me out to be!”

He dreaded to think what was written plain across his face as Kurt finally took mercy on him, stopping his tirade with a long-suffering sigh. “How much have you had to drink?” he asked, sounding more tired than truly exasperated.

Constantin scoffed. He'd never needed drink to become lost in this particular kind of madness, though it certainly helped him on his way. “Not nearly enough, I assure you. And I'm certain to be ambushed as soon as I even try to get another.”

“You're probably right. And whoever would stop you would probably be right too.”

He didn't know why they were bothering to pretend that there wouldn’t only be one person to stop him, saving him from himself as she was able to do with all messes but this one. He could practically hear the whispers; typical Constantin, so consumed by his own vices that he needs to escape his duty to indulge in the base urges he lacks the dedication to truly suppress.

“Is she still dancing with him?” he asked, before he could think better of it.

Kurt gave him a searching look at that. “No. She went to talk to the old lord after telling me to come and check on you.”

Of course she'd sent him. It was probably for the best that she hadn’t come herself. She knew him far too well not to question the tension that no doubt clung to his shoulders, and at that moment it would've been a tall order indeed to hide his thoughts from her, if he'd ever succeeded in doing so. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of her unease, even if he _had_ savoured the pure sense of rightness that’d followed every drag of his fingertips on her skin.

Yet he found it curious that she hadn't sent Kurt to follow him that day. Unless she herself had needed his protection, which, considering her infuriating yet entrancing martial talent, was unlikely.

“I take it you didn't want to join your colleagues on my adventure earlier?” he asked. “I’m certain they had a grand time standing outside the various tavern doors. I think one of them managed to get a free drink, actually.”

“And have the men call me your babysitter again? Not a chance. Though your cousin would've probably appreciated it if I had.”

“Wouldn't she appreciate subtlety? You're a great deal many things, my good man, but I daresay I would've noticed you even sooner than your men.”

Kurt shot him a look that was bizarrely similar to the lady Colette’s when she’d silently called him out on his feigned ignorance. “No matter what kind of arrangements you lot strike up, I don’t think your safety will ever stop being her priority.” He paused for a moment, face drawn with indecision before he sighed. “Though you're right with the subtlety. She did say you deserved the time to yourself before this evening. An ordeal, I think she called it.”

Constantin finally felt something loosen inside him. For all her care and devotion, he could never wholly purge the idea that he cared for her far more than she did for him, even in ways untouched by his affliction. Every reassurance of her affections felt like a tonic for his bleeding heart, a temporary cure that would last until the next wave of inadequacy tore him open once more. 

“I went with her to some garden that young lord took her to,” Kurt continued, fixing Constantin’s attention in an instant. “Stayed by the gates, of course, not that it did much good. d’Alarie came out alone, saying she'd already left.”

“She left?! -” He hadn't dared to expect such a promising chance to find out what they spoke of, or at the very least, the context. “Did he say anything else? What they spoke of, how she was?”

“Nothing that made much sense. He just kept apologising to me and went off muttering something about some kind of mistake.” He frowned, looking at his feet and then directly at Constantin, his gaze unreadable. “Any idea what he meant?”

“Absolutely none,” he replied, far more truthfully than he would've liked. “But you didn't see her? Not even before she went back to her room?”

Kurt shook his head. “I probably saw her the same time you did.”

Now that was incredibly unlikely, but the less he knew about that, the better. He glared at the way his knuckles whitened on the stone as his mind swam with possibilities, each more ludicrous and darkly imaginative than the last. “So... would you say it's reasonably safe to assume that _he_ did something to her? Did you see the wrapping on her hand?”

“I did. Look, forgive me for saying, but it doesn't look like anything he could've done, much as I don't like him either.”

Constantin swore. Kurt was right; he was clutching at pathetic shreds of evidence in a desperate attempt to point blame at anyone else, especially that man. She’d even told him herself that he wouldn’t do her harm, but her lying to him was just as insane a notion as the idea that she’d done it to herself.

“I know this is basically like asking the Mother Cardinal to strip naked and sing Naut shanties, but you need to stop worrying about it. I imagine she’s told you that she’s fine?”

“Yes, but -”

“Then with all due respect, that’s that. We both know she’s not irresponsible enough to do herself any serious damage, for your sake if nothing else.”

Constantin could find little rebuttal to that, especially when the idea that her responsibility was for him alone warmed him so. But he didn’t want to think any more about the cause of her injury, now far too confused and conflicted to make any sense of it, and certainly unwilling to imagine the sheer abhorrence of her hurting herself due to his actions any more than he already had. He didn’t want to think about her lashing out after he’d left her exposed and vulnerable, striking at the door, the bed, even the mirror, the very one that'd reflected his deepest desires in striking clarity-

He made to change the subject, to take a leaf from his cousin’s book and be sensible for once, only for Kurt to beat him to it. “You know, you could actually have fun this evening,” he said. “That girl you were with isn’t bad looking.”

He was absolutely right, objectively speaking. And yet -

“Perhaps you should talk to her then? Though probably away from her father; I think that man has enough disdain to fill the entirety of Sérène’s court twice- no, thrice over!”

“I’ll pass if it’s all the same to you.” Kurt grimaced, a look just on the side of too sheepish to be deemed a smile. “Noble women are far more trouble than they’re worth, in my experience.”

Truer words had never been spoken, not that the other man knew the full extent of it. “On that I find us in perfect agreement, my friend. Especially when-”

“Oh! Am I interrupting?”

They both turned to see the doorway darken with another figure, and this time it was the silhouette that told him it still wasn’t her. He hadn't realised he’d end up practically holding court outside, and _certainly_ hadn't expected the lady Colette to come and find him after he’d essentially ran out on her so abruptly. It took all he had not to just storm away, far from anyone who’d ever looked at him with such a terrifying degree of certainty. 

Kurt gave her a short bow. “Not at all, my lady. I was just making sure His Highness here wasn’t too deep in his cups.”

“Yes, thank you, Kurt,” Constantin said, shooting Kurt a glare. “Allow me to clarify that I am not drunk, my lady.” Regrettably.

Colette smiled, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “Well, that’s… good?” 

Evidently, they had very different ideas about what was good. What would in fact be marvellous would involve her leaving him in peace, or better yet, suddenly deciding that she herself was in love with the man her sister had so appreciated, finding herself simply incapable of ending the evening without making him hers. Though instead of affording him such a kindness she simply stood there in silence, looking around with an air of determined yet awkward expectation.

It was easy to tell when Kurt was trying to suppress a smirk. “I'll be out of your hair then.” He inclined his head in a short gesture of respect and made to leave, giving the lady an appropriately wide berth. 

Constantin hurriedly called out to his rapidly retreating back. “Ah, Kurt?”

He turned, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Perhaps she doesn't need to know that I'm still out here?” 

“You think she won’t know anyway?” Kurt scoffed. “You’re as bad as each other.” Constantin hoped that neither he nor the lady saw the way he shivered at that. “Just don't stay out here all evening, for her sake if no-one else's.” 

With any luck, Colette wouldn’t mistake the reference for herself. “I won't be long. Thank you, Kurt.”

Kurt nodded a final time and strode back into the hall, granting the lady a small smile before the doors shut behind him.

Colette made her way over, her dress practically serving as its very own light source. “He speaks of your cousin, I presume?” she said quietly, placing her own gloved hands on the balustrade while keeping a blessedly reasonable distance between them.

“He does,” Constantin answered. But for once he didn’t want to talk about his cousin, not with her. “You mentioned an elder sister, did you not? Tell me, is she the protective sort?”

She gave him an odd look, as if it were somehow an impertinent question. “In her way, I suppose. Though I can't really claim to have ever been in a situation that called for it.”

Ah, that was it. How remiss of him to forget that he was a reckless man in need of unparalleled levels of conservation.

“Are you certain I didn't interrupt anything important? I wouldn't want to be a bother -”

Constantin waved a hand. In truth, she wasn't interrupting anything but his own demented musings, but he could still feel how his defences had risen at her very presence. “Not at all,” he said, not bothering to fight against the tiredness that stained his words. “In fact, by all means - here is undoubtedly a more preferable venue to see to the business of the day, over the very many stuffy palace rooms I'm sure are available.”

Her brow furrowed. “Is Castile not to your liking?”

“On the contrary, I was lucky enough to find the city itself is as diverting as I'd dared hope. But I'm afraid that once you've spent your entire life in grand houses it can become somewhat,” he searched for the right word. “Banal. And everyone turns to gawk as soon as I enter a room, even the portraits stare at me with those strange, glassy eyes of theirs.”

“I see.” she hummed thoughtfully, lines still creasing her brow. “Though I thought you would’ve been used to it by now. The attention, I mean.”

He looked back over his shoulder into the still-crowded ballroom. Could you ever truly become accustomed to such incessant judgement? He almost shuddered at the thought. “Funnily enough, I’m of the opinion that there’s a difference between what I’m expected to tolerate and what I _actually_ can.”

She didn’t reply immediately, but although her voice was quiet when she finally did, he could almost hear the cogs working in her mind, shifting like clockwork. “You're really not what I expected.”

Constantin turned his head to see her regarding him strangely, roving eyes containing no lust or judgement. There was little point in asking what she’d expected, he’d already seen it reflected back at him by every pack of courtiers he’d had the displeasure of meeting, each more insufferable than the last.

Apparently sensing that he wasn’t going to grace her with a response any time soon, she continued. “They said you were wild and irresponsible, and,” she paused for a moment. “And ill-suited to rule.”

He had no idea where this was going. “And you disagree, do you?” 

“I do.”

“May I dare to ask why?”

“I- ” Clearly she hadn’t expected to be asked. “Well, I can’t speak for suitability to rule, but I don’t see an irresponsible man before me. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“With all due respect, my lady, you don’t know me very well.” She didn’t know him at all.

Her voice was so quiet, so hesitant. “Perhaps not, but I know love when I see it.” 

His heart stopped. “Love?”

“Yes, love.”

“I'm sorry, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about.” Panic rose in his throat, filling his mouth with a visceral combination of bile and dread.

Her face crumpled, and she glared at him with a sad yet burning ferocity he never could've anticipated. “Do you take me for an unobservant fool? Or just some silly noble girl too frivolous to notice what’s right in front of her, as plain as day?”

“What? No, I- ” Had her father set her up to this? To find his very weakest spot and pry open the wound for all to see, or to press against it just hard enough to make him submit to anything they demanded of him - 

“Please believe me, I bear you no ill will!” she all but cried, urgency in her every word. “But if you'll forgive me, I rather believe your reaction to your cousin's care is quite different to what mine would be, if my sister ever felt the need to protect me. If you'll just hear me out -”

So she'd seen his spectre after all, the shadow of his obsession that loomed unchallenged over everything he did. How many times had he touched himself to the thought of her, and how many times had the act been clear for all to see once he’d emerged into a room full of searching looks and piercing eyes? The men and women of the court may admonish him for many things he wasn’t even guilty of, but on this one thing they had him dead to rights: that discretion was well and truly beyond him.

“To have kept it a secret speaks of great dedication, not the actions of the willful boy they all paint you as.”

He’d show her willful. He pushed himself away from the stone in an instant and rounded on her all in the same movement, searing hot anger coursing through his veins. “What do you want from me?!” he almost shouted, ignoring her gasp. “Now that you’ve wound me up is it time for me to dance? Was my earlier performance not enough for you?!” Her kindness was a ruse, a clever trick to disguise the fact that she was just like the rest, all too eager to exploit him for her own gain. The very idea of telling her; of trusting a woman he'd just met with his dearest secret, was insane, as much as his own treacherous heart spurred him onwards.

She looked fearfully towards the door and pitched her voice lower, whispering with all the intensity of a bloodcurdling scream. “Just _listen to me!_ Has no one ever tried to help you before?!”

“If you’re deluding yourself into thinking you know all there is about me, you should already know the answer to that.”

“Oh for - ” she brushed his arm as he tried to turn away. “You can’t possibly be ignorant of the fact that cousins have married before.”

The tips of her fingers felt like scalding iron. He shoved her back with something horribly close to a snarl, taking stock of how she grasped the balustrade to steady herself as she looked back at him, aghast. “If you value your hands you’ll keep them to yourself, _my lady_ ,” he spat. “And as for that, you’d be the ignorant one to believe that’s the only thing that binds us.” If she wanted him to talk, he would, but on his own terms, by his own rules. “Allow me then, to enlighten you with my unfortunate reality; those you speak of are indeed related, but lived apart, their only correspondence being letters and the occasional formal visit, if their magnanimous parents were so generous to permit it. My dearest cousin has never known her father, and was therefore raised at _my_ father’s palace, with me. We are no different branches of the same family, and I have yet to experience even a week bereft of her sweet presence, and if there was any true god in this world, I’d never have to.”

He spread his arms wide and revelled in her shocked silence. “So, my good lady, pray tell me your verdict! Am I to be embraced by the ever-forgiving masses of the Congregation, or am I to be shunned and reviled by all who know that she’s as good as my sister?!”

“I- ”

The lady was well and truly cowed. He couldn’t help but laugh even as ridiculous tears blurred his eyes, a cruel, distant sound that sounded foreign even to himself. “And before you leap to defend me, I don't love her in spite of it. I love her _because of it._ No-one else could know me, _understand_ me as she does.”

There was no possible way that she had anything else to say, nothing but more patronising drivel and false promises that always stank with insincerity. He stopped short of grabbing her by the shoulders but took a step forward nonetheless, hoping that he could pin her with his gaze alone as he spoke with a tone he never wanted to hear issue from his mouth again. “I trust that you have no intention of telling any others about this?” he murmured.

She was so still she could’ve been dead. The only sign of life was a minute but unmistakable shake of the head.

He hoped that was true, for all their sakes. She'd unwittingly honed the perfect weapon for his father to use against him, and it was worth far more than her life that it remained sheathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m don't intend to gloss over the fact that they were raised together, or the line DS says in the latter half of the game about Constantin being like their brother - make of that what you will.
> 
> 22/1/21: Nothing especially related to this chapter, but it's interesting to read that other people don't see DS as having much of a personality, something which I find very much at odds with what I saw in the game. As far as customisable player characters go, you really don't choose much of their dialogue at all (even when you do, it's just asking questions more often than not), and it's very difficult to play them as someone who's callous to the natives (for example) without it running contrary to everything else they say without your prompting. They actually have one of the more concrete personalities I've seen in this 'type' of RPG, and I really do mean it when I tag 'Canon Compliant', as in everything 'extra' I include could be perfectly feasible in terms of both characterisation and timeline.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elise laughed at the utterly indignant look on his face. “Sounds like you’d better start counting your lucky stars if you plan to best me, Constantin.”
> 
> His eyes seemed to soften and set alight at the exact same time, melting together to form something else entirely, a look for her alone. “Now, now, cousin,” he said. “We both know I’ve only ever needed one of those.”

Elise swore under her breath as the shot missed her quarry for the second time, embedding itself in a nearby tree instead of the animal’s soft flank.

“Close,” Kurt winced, standing otherwise silently behind her. Perhaps that was the issue in a backwards sort of way, her usual companion being anything but quiet.

She lowered her rifle with a sigh and set about reloading it. “Hardly. I couldn’t have had a clearer shot.” Hopefully the assembled crowd saw her crouch as an attempt at stability instead of an easy ploy to hide the embarrassment no doubt written across her face.

“All of this lot watching can’t help.”

“That hasn’t made a difference in the past,” she answered, looking back at the courtiers dotted around the forest, their usual bright garb exchanged for more muted shades that afforded them a much-needed degree of subtlety. If only they could dress so on a more regular basis, though she’d much prefer they weren't there at all, and would gladly replace the lot of them with what felt like the only man who wasn't there.

Constantin had extolled her virtues that morning for the first time in weeks. Not since that first evening in Castile had he spoken of her so in front of others, though his tone that morning was in a manner far more appropriate to polite company, much to his credit. Olmar, the current stop on their so-called educational tour, lay on the Congregation’s southernmost border and possessed the healthy industry for firearms that would be expected from their closest city to the Bridge Alliance. The conversation had turned to the matter over breakfast, and Constantin had wasted no time in praising her aptitude for the rifle, much to the delight of Lord and Lady Branly, Olmar’s ruling couple.

Nevertheless, he’d brushed off the offer to join them on an impromptu hunting trip, babbling something about the library and finances, of all things. The library, she could’ve bought in isolation, he did like to read when he had the liberty of actually choosing the book in question, but _finance?_ He could put on an excellent front when protocol so demanded, but he’d never been very good at lying to her, especially when it involved missing something he usually very much enjoyed. And there _she_ was, stuck outside embarrassing herself while he managed to escape them all by going who-knew where.

“I've half a mind to pack it up right now,” she grumbled, even as she knew it wouldn’t be wise. The old lord was far too excited, gathering up the rest of the herd to stalk further into the forest. “It’s a wonder there’s even somewhere for the stag to hide. I’ve never seen a forest so small.”

Kurt made a vague noise of agreement. “Neither have I. More like a glorified garden than an actual forest.”

“Indeed. That only makes this failure all the more embarrassing.” She rose to her feet, giving a strained smile to the Lord Branly as he chose that moment to look over. “At least this one doesn’t have an eligible son.”

Which in its way made Constantin’s absence all the more jarring. She’d thought that he’d be eager to spend time with her once they’d finally left Castile, yet instead of bouncing back to her as he always did after his odd moods, he’d maintained the distance that had festered between them ever since that damn ball, ever since he’d stepped back into the hall with that girl and refused to meet her gaze. Never before had he been so aloof with her, and it was a fierce contender to be the most jarring thing she’d ever felt, unsettling her with an intensity to rival even her shameful, long-dormant secret. If there was to be such a gulf between them, she’d have expected it to emerge after he’d come so close to dragging that very secret into the open air between them. But he’d largely been his usual self in the hall before he'd stepped outside, even going so far as to cradle the very hand that had suffered for her transgressions and lack of willpower. 

Kurt looked over at her with a frown as they made to rejoin the rest of the group. “What did Constantin say he was doing again?”

She sighed. “He said he was going to do some research in the library, of all things. And that’s after he planted this idea in Branly’s head in the first place,” she waved a lazy hand, gesturing to their surroundings. “Who knows where he’s actually escaped to.”

“Well, it’s not unheard of for -”

She cut him off. “No, no, Kurt, he said he wanted to look up finance _. Finance_.”

That did the trick. It was almost entertaining to see the sheer confusion hit Kurt’s face like a rampaging cavalry advance, and she would’ve laughed had she not been feeling the exact same way.

“And he expected you to believe that, why exactly?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” she muttered. “Surely you’ve seen how strange he’s been with me for weeks now?”

She didn’t like the expression that flitted across Kurt’s brow in answer. It looked far too guilty, and certainly far too knowing. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“Kurt, if you have _any_ idea why - ”

“ _Lady de Sardet!_ ” 

Elise just managed to plaster a smile on her face as Lord Branly walked over, his arms spread wide in an alarmingly fatherly manner. The man had a large, robust build that had probably been muscular in his youth, one that’d apparently been dragged down by a combination of age and indulgence, a fate so common amongst noblemen. Her uncle was apparently one of few to avoid it, through what Constantin would doubtlessly call a life where others’ misery served as an aptly pleasurable replacement for drink.

“Consolations, my lady!” said Branly, far too loudly for any environment, let alone a supposed hunt. “Though I’m sure it must happen to every marksman - or woman, in this case.” 

It was likely to continue if he kept speaking at such a volume. A mouse would be loath to emerge, let alone a stag. “Indeed it must. You have my apologies, my lord. I pray you do not think my cousin was being insincere in his praise, though he does flatter me.”

He clapped her on the back in a manner that was likely intended to be companionable as he steered them further into the forest. “Not at all!” he said. “I consider myself surprised that he elected to stay behind, however.” That certainly made two of them. “From what I’ve heard of the young man, he doesn’t seem the sort to want to stay behind and read while everyone else has all the fun!”

On any other occasion that would be an accurate assessment indeed. He’d even turned down her offer of sword practise the previous day, something that had been a shared passion of theirs for as long as she could remember, ever since they’d used mere sticks instead of the wooden blades they’d so adored growing up.

“He’s a man of many interests, to be certain,” she eventually answered, trying to direct the conversation down to a more appropriate volume. “He informed me he’d be researching matters of local finance this morning.”

“How marvellous! Finding even the slightest amount of enjoyment in such matters is invaluable as a future ruler,” he chuckled. “Alas, interest in that particular field is something that escapes me personally: I fear that my wife is the brains behind our operations.”

“Is that so?” She hadn’t seen Lady Branly much, besides at mealtimes. “And what does she like to do, if I may ask?”

Branly clapped her on the back again, almost hard enough to knock the wind out of her. Perhaps it was a blessing this man hadn’t had any children, he’d have surely punted them all the way to Thélème with the force he used. “Only to see to the running of the entire city, my dear! You have been to Castile, have you not?”

“Just a few weeks ago, yes.”

“Well, my darling Madeleine is the sister of the good Lord d’Alarie, from which I believe her enviable stately talents originate. From her family, I should clarify.”

She thought it strange that she’d never read as much. Even had she not been required to, she would’ve made it a point to glean as much information about their hosts as possible. “I see. And is she still close with her family?”

Branly nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, yes. They all seemed to get along well over there - the Congregation’s western front. I believe they knew your mother and uncle well, too.”

“Yes, I’d gathered that Lord d’Alarie and my uncle knew each other reasonably well. Though,” she questioned the wisdom of delving into the matter for a moment, before deciding that any offence taken from her words could be easily smoothed out if presented sensitively in the first place. “He… seems to have a view of my uncle not shared by very many others.”

“You’re referring to the fact that d’Alarie would sing his praises as he ordered his only son assassinated, correct?” He laughed, finally quietly, at what was undeniably a look of shocked horror on Elise’s own face. “No need to fret, my dear. If the man desired my ruin he’d have done it years ago, probably when I stole Madeleine from right under his nose.”

Her shock only deepened. She could scarcely imagine her uncle feeling so strongly about someone, let alone romantically. “You -”

“He was less intimidating in his youth, I assure you. d’Alarie and his fellows may call him a paragon of manners and virtue, but we know the truth, don’t we dear?”

“I - yes.” She could hardly believe she was getting away with agreeing to such things. “To say that my cousin and I were taken aback by the opinion would be putting it lightly.” She looked over her shoulder to where Kurt walked behind them, who looked just as surprised as she felt. “Even our master-at-arms was sceptical.”

Branly hummed in agreement. “What I don’t understand is why he treats that boy of his the way I’ve heard, especially since he’s already proven he’s not the incompetent hedonist he’s painted as. Even if he were, making an enemy of your sole heir is never wise.”

Her chest tightened. If only her uncle could understand as much. It seemed a blind spot in what was otherwise a ruthless but nevertheless astute political mind, a spot that she may have been able to overlook if it were directed at almost anyone else. “Forgive me, my lord, but I thought you said that your wife was the brains of the two of you,” she said, her host’s honesty proving surprisingly infectious. “I certainly don’t find myself speaking with an unintelligent man.”

The man laughed, loud enough to drive several birds from their nearby nest. “And you, my dear, are the politician your uncle can only dream of being! But you flatter me. I’m simply commenting on old observations, made long before you were born. Ah, but,” he put out a hand to stop her from taking another step. “Such observations will stay between the two of us, yes?”

She smiled. “Of course, my lord.” It was hardly a favour to him. She'd wager that if either of their words were doomed to draw the Prince’s ire it would be hers, especially if he’d managed to escape that ire for so long, and even after such provocation. But almost all her promises of secrecy contained one small caveat, someone from whom she couldn’t keep anything from, try as she might.

\--

It was no small surprise to find Constantin exactly where he said he’d be: in one of the palace’s more remote libraries, well away from any distractions or prying eyes. The door was blessedly silent as she gently pushed it open, her reward being the undisturbed sight of the most relaxed cousin she’d seen in weeks. He sat in a chair turned to face the large window, legs spread uncaringly wide in his privacy, his fingers doubtlessly drumming a familiar tune against his leg as he held a thin book in his other hand. She dared to indulge herself for a moment as she drank in the sight; from the subtle strength in his thinly-covered shoulders to the light shining on his blond hair like a halo, giving him the appearance of the angel he certainly wasn’t.

She schooled her expression as she saw him twitch slightly, his ever-familiar tell that he knew he was being watched. “Who is it?” he called, not bothering to turn and look.

“Someone who’s more than a little surprised to see you here,” she answered.

Constantin’s head snapped around while she was still speaking, eyes wide. “Cousin! I - ” he swallowed, looking everywhere but directly at her. “I thought you’d be out longer.”

The unease in his voice made her incredibly thankful that the hunt proved such a dismal failure if he was simply going to make himself scarce after just another hour, hiding even more than he already was. 

“Alas, no,” she said, closing the door as gently as she’d opened it and leaning against it with a sigh. “I’m sorry to say that I failed to prove your praise justified, and of course that we won’t be having venison for dinner this evening.”

At least that inspired something of a smile from him, if strained. “Well then, I can only apologise for not being there to cheer you on.”

“You jest, cousin, but it would’ve been good to have you there.”

“And I am genuinely sorry to have missed it! But as you can see, I was busy with my research, just as I said. Now if you’ll excuse me -”

She ignored him and walked over, stopping to check a pile of discarded books on the large table just behind where Constantin sat. “ _A Concise Record of Merchant Nobility_ ,” she read aloud, regarding Constantin with no shortage of scepticism. “Not quite _The Complete Mercantile Trade_ , but still a far cry from your typical reading material.”

Constantin huffed. “Am I not permitted to broaden my horizons? Expand my knowledge to better prepare myself for rule?”

“Well, you have Branly convinced, at least. He practically waxed lyrical about how pleasantly surprised he was at your studiousness.”

“But not you?”

“You forget that I know you far too well for that.” She opened the book in her hands and flicked through, taking note of how the pages seemed to settle happily on one of the more recent entries. _House Rodin_ , the title read. “I never knew you had such a fascination for family trees, though. Is it recent?”

She realised how else her words could be interpreted almost immediately after they’d left her mouth, and judging by the slight flush that bloomed across Constantin’s face, he had too, yet he was kind enough to let it go unmentioned. He turned to face the window once more instead, aptly hiding his face from view. “Merely trying to find a solution to a problem, cousin.”

He wasn't getting away from her that easily. She grabbed another chair and dragged it over to sit stubbornly alongside him. “Perhaps I can help?”

“No, no, there's no need, I assure you.”

“ _Constantin._ ”

He finally met her eyes then, if only with what was unquestionably a stinking glare. “I _said_ there's no need.”

This was fast becoming ridiculous. “What the hell has come over you?!” she almost spat. “If this is about-”

Constantin practically flinched. “It’s not.”

“Then what is it?!”

He closed his book with a snap - _New Fauna of Teer Fradee_ , she noted - and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one of the most uncomfortable expressions she'd ever seen. 

She chanced a gentle brush of his shoulder from where she sat alongside him. “Tell me, and I could help you,” she said, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Whenever have I not?”

“What, like you told me about your little chat with the lord in the gardens?” he scoffed before his face fell, disdainful sneer wiped away as quickly as it’d appeared. He shook his head. “No, it's fine. We'd have to start keeping secrets from each other at some point, wouldn't we? We're no longer children, after all.”

It was less that she didn't want to tell him, and more that she felt like she _couldn't_. She didn't want to think about what he'd do with the knowledge that there were those who would actually accept them for what they were, what they could be, any more than she wanted to think about just how close they could become if there were truly no secrets between them.

“That doesn't mean we need to drift apart like this,” she said quietly, reminding herself of her altruistic intentions even as she dragged her hand down to his forearm where it rested on his thigh. “Please, Constantin.”

As much as his discomfort chafed, she knew she’d finally worn him down when he covered her cold hand with one of his warm ones, his shoulders sagging in tired resignation even as hers jolted at the soft brush of their bare skin. He took a shuddering breath before he spoke, one that she felt so keenly it may as well have been hers. “I find myself at a disadvantage, fair cousin,” he murmured. “Tell me, what is one to do when they find themselves at the mercy of one who knows far too much? One who could,” his hand tightened over hers, “Ruin me with a single word.”

She could see him as he was that evening; white in the face and impossibly tense, rattled in a way he rarely was away from his father. She leaned over and plucked _A Concise Record of Merchant Nobility_ from the table behind them, still open on the right page. “Does this have something to do with Lord Rodin’s daughter?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Constantin glanced over at the book in her hands and swore under his breath. “Indeed. She told me that I could trust her, but you know what these _people_ are like, cousin. I would go so far as to say that an entire ship full of gossiping Nauts is more trustworthy than a single noble lady.”

Resisting a small laugh was beyond her, and the indulgence was well worth the small smile that quirked Constantin’s smooth lips. “There are exceptions to the rule, though, as hard as that is to believe.”

“Perhaps the Lady Branly is one of them,” he said, nodding his head towards the window. Elise followed his gaze and was surprised to see said lady sat on the edge of what looked like a training ring set up in the courtyard, apparently watching the sparring soldiers with great interest. 

“Her husband mentioned that she was quite hands-on with the running of the city earlier, so it wouldn't actually surprise me if she were less of a gossip-monger than most.” She felt a smirk spread across her mouth as she thought of just the thing to improve Constantin's mood, without a shadow of a doubt. “That wasn't the most interesting thing he said about her though.”

“What do you mean?”

She closed the book in her lap and leaned closer to him, pitching her voice in an unnecessarily conspiratory tone, considering that they were entirely alone. “His exact words were that he _stole_ Madeleine, his wife, from right under the nose of none other than your father.”

Constantin’s reaction was all she'd hoped for and more. Weeks of awkwardness melted away as he laughed wholeheartedly, his entire face scrunched up in what ought to make a thoroughly unattractive picture but in practice was anything but. His laughter lines were valleys she'd delight in losing herself in, repeated in small but loving increments around his eyes and nose, all coming together to paint the perfect portrait of comfort both familiar and forbidden, stirring feelings equal parts intimate and insidious. If only there were no room left in her heart to feel guilty about it, and if only there weren't something so desperately wrong with her that she'd missed his touch just as much as his company.

“Oh, _cousin_ ,” Constantin managed to get out, between heaving gasps of laughter. “Please tell me you're serious.”

She grinned despite herself, pushing down the thoughts that had no right to intrude on such a moment. “Utterly. Though I must say I find it difficult to imagine...” she trailed off, trying to find the right way to say it that wasn't exactly how she thought. 

Constantin seemed to be thinking along the same lines, however. “Difficult to imagine him caring about anyone that way? That certainly makes two of us. But tell me, was it a messy fight? A drawn-out love affair?” His voice practically shuddered with excitement.

“I'm afraid I didn't ask! Though I'm certain he'd be all too glad to tell you the details, he seemed uncommonly forthcoming -” She could have kicked herself for forgetting her promise, even if she’d always planned on telling Constantin anyway. “Only I did swear not to repeat it.”

Constantin’s eyes positively glinted. “I’ll be sure to find a way of asking some way or another. Who knows, perhaps my father has even more failed conquests he’d rather keep quiet. I only wish they were common knowledge!”

“Something tells me that would be the final straw for him,” she said playfully.

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, cousin! Only I would have the dubious honour of being the final dent in his armour, the only being that could possibly disappoint him so! No, I believe the best outcome would be to hope for his prolonged embarrassment, potent enough that he would deign to leave me well alone.”

Elise shook her head with a smile. As tempting as it was to slip into old habits, she didn’t have it in her to deny her uncle’s apathy again, not when she’d finally got him to talk to her again, and especially when he seemed to be in such good spirits. The fact that he’d latched onto the topic hadn’t escaped her, however, and while she was loath to wipe the long-absent smile from his face, she also needed to put the matter to rest, once and for all.

“Lord Branly’s frank honesty tells me that he’d be in that rare number of trustworthy courtiers too,” she said, watching Constantin carefully. “Would it be so absurd to suggest that Lady Rodin may share that same virtue?”

He gave her a look that told her, in no uncertain terms, that she may as well have asked him to give his father a hug and tell him how appreciated he felt. “That’s just it, cousin,” he sighed. “You are the only one I trust.”

It was one thing to know it, for she always had, yet another entirely to hear it said with such surety. She squeezed his shoulder again, ensuring that he actually looked at her. “Well, whatever you decide to do, be sure that it isn’t stupid,” she said.

Constantin’s mouth twitched. “And pray tell, what would you deem as stupid?”

“Having her assassinated.”

He laughed again, not as joyously as before, but not bitterly either. “Never fear, I'm not my mother, heaven forbid. Yet -” he leaned a little closer, the comforting smell of books clinging to him like the cologne she knew he didn’t bother with. “- Yet I’d hope that you’d stop me before I became anything like her, or my father.”

She’d missed his unwavering attention so much. “I doubt I should ever find the need, Constantin,” she answered. Not even his indicatively staggering mood swings could possess that much cruelty.

“Good.” He didn’t move an inch, his eyes roving across her face. “Should I… take it that I’m forgiven, then?”

That such a meagre amount was all she was going to get should've come as no surprise. His earlier comment about keeping secrets had the uncomfortable ring of truth to it, no matter how much she wished otherwise. So long as this ill-fated desire festered between them there would always be so much left unspoken, all to ensure that they would never do something so reckless as to force them apart forever. But he should know better than to think she’d yield quite so easily. 

She raised an eyebrow. “For...?”

Constantin gave a low, quiet groan. “Oh, don’t make me say it.”

“Say what, exactly?” 

“My dear, you know what I mean.” His eyes bored into hers. 

“Then say it.” _Put that mouth of yours to good use._

Perhaps he’d chosen that exact moment to develop the ability to read minds, as his gaze darted down to her lips in small yet indisputable movement. She felt her lips part against her will.

“I’m sorry,” he all but whispered. “For pushing you away. Believe me, I think I hurt myself just as much as I hurt you.”

Even more reason for her to hope he’d never do it again. “Then you’re forgiven. On one condition, however.”

“What is it?”

She finally forced herself to lean away and looked out towards the courtyard once more, where the men had finished sparring and were busy shaking each other’s hands. “On the condition that we make up for lost time.”

He followed her gaze. It was easy to pinpoint the exact moment when he caught her meaning, realisation and excitement washing over his face in one wave after another. 

“I know you said you didn’t want to before,” she went on, “But given the circumstances…”

Constantin gave her what could only be called a shit-eating grin in answer. “So eager for yet another sporting humiliation, cousin? Have you not had your fill for the day?”

“Oh, you think _you’ll_ be the victor?”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve been practising! I am now in the honoured possession of techniques foreign even to you,” he shot back, pointing at her in a petulant kind of manner that had no right to be so endearing.

She shook her head in a half-hearted show of exasperation before rising to her feet, hand extended in something that felt halfway between a simple hand for leverage and a sincere peace offering. “Should I take it that you accept my challenge, then?” she asked.

He took her hand after a mere moment's hesitation. “You know I could never refuse you anything for long.”

\--

A strange nervous energy pounded through her as she made her way towards the courtyard, light armour donned and sword at her hip. She'd brought them in the hope of such an eventuality, though she hadn't quite anticipated her mind to be in such a way when it happened.

They'd asked Lord Branly for the use of his facilities for their exercise, to which the answer had been a resounding yes, to no one's surprise, on the condition that he and his wife could have the honour of observing them. Constantin had made a token display of fuss at that as soon as they were away from prying eyes, his words alone making him sound angry, but his tone and the smile that curled his mouth had betrayed him with practised ease. She dare not question his sudden shift in mood, preferring instead to savour as much of him as she possibly could, lest he suddenly push her away again for reasons she couldn't help but guess at.

The man himself stood with Kurt at the centre of the courtyard, his back clad in familiar armour a few shades darker than her own. She caught her eyes dragging over him for the second time that day, marvelling at how the blackened metal fit him so perfectly, how it moulded him into looking every inch the statesman he would eventually have to become. He couldn’t really be deemed an intimidating figure, even in amour, but he had a certain draw nonetheless, one that she was certain attracted more than just her. 

Sure enough, her own feelings stared back at her when she looked around to the assembled audience, that undeniable fascination reflected in the eyes of others, a place where such things had far more right to be. Rationality wasn't enough to shield her from the sharp stab of jealousy that drove into her at the thought. How unfair it was that they could look their fill in exactly the way they wanted, without a shred of guilt or fear to deter them.

Yet they would never have the privilege of his undivided attention, not like she did when he turned to smile at her arrival, a grin that only grew wider as he took in her attire.

“My better half approaches!” he said jovially, spreading his arms wide to welcome her. “You know, do you think it was deliberate that they gave you the lighter armour and me the darker? I rather feel like the villain, cousin.”

She rolled her eyes as she drew level with him, turning to give Kurt a nod before drawing back to her cousin’s expectant gaze. “The villain in which story, pray tell?” 

It was just the right thing to say. Constantin elevated his voice when he next spoke, carrying it to the very corners of the courtyard as if he were rehearsing a play; “A wayward brother comes to his dear sister’s aid, ignoring all pleas to the contrary,” he said, turning slowly in a circle as if to ensure that all eyes were on him, as though there was anything around more interesting than him at that moment. “Yet unknown tragedy occurs, and he emerges from her chambers alone, with only madness and her skewed heart on his blade for company.”

 _The impossible man_ . To think he'd even tried to complain at the prospect of an audience. She shook her head fondly, even as she tried to push down the strange, nagging feeling that this suggestion may have been a mistake after all. “What _have_ you been reading, Constantin?” she asked, quiet enough that it would be for his ears only. 

He replied just as softly. “You've already seen what I've been reading, cousin. This one comes from the... imagination.” He paused, face reddening slightly. “Though the further from the palace you go, the better stories you hear.”

She was about to ask where the hell he’d been when Kurt chose that moment to step up to them, with such uncanny timing that she’d bet he’d done it deliberately. “I do hope you two know what you’re doing,” he said, arms folded.

Constantin beamed. “You should be proud of us, Kurt, for wanting to showcase your excellent training.” He twirled his sword around in his hand in time with his words, the tip of the blade coming concerning close to his own face.

Kurt eyed it warily. “I'll just be proud if you don't end up flat on your face like last time.”

“There was a rock! I tripped! That had nothing to do with lack of skill!”

Elise laughed at the utterly indignant look on his face. “Sounds like you’d better start counting your lucky stars if you plan to best me, Constantin.”

His eyes seemed to soften and set alight at the exact same time, melting together to form something else entirely, a look for her alone. “Now, now, cousin,” he said. “We both know I’ve only ever needed one of those.”

Kurt spared her from trying to find any kind of reply to that by clearing his throat and looking between them in exasperation. “Let's get this over with, shall we? Are there to be terms?”

“I think three proper strikes would suffice,” she answered, somewhat hurriedly. “Does that sound reasonable, Constantin?”

His brow furrowed. “I should imagine so, though perhaps a little on the short side. We have an audience, after all!”

Elise slowly drew her sword from its sheath, taking a moment to appreciate its familiar weight before slowly raising it to tap against its twin: the blade held lazily aloft in Constantin's gloved hand. “Three strikes need not be fast,” she said. “Only skilful.”

And despite any teasing, she knew that wasn't something he lacked. Nor was strength, for that matter. She'd felt in it his innocent embrace from years gone by, something she now only found in the pressure of his sword pressed against hers. 

His grip on his blade had tightened as soon as she'd tapped against its length, bringing forth an achingly tender smile in its wake. “Right you are, cousin,” he said. And with that, he took three perfectly even steps backwards and brought his blade to his chest, his grip firmer than ever.

She mirrored his movements step by step until distance stretched between them, scant feet that felt like an abyss and nothing all at once. 

“Three strikes names the victor!” Kurt declared, his familiar words already sounding strangely distant. “Begin when ready, you two.”

They slowly began to circle each other, just as they always had in the openings to their duels. She need not act rashly and strike first, for Constantin's impatience could always be relied upon to rule his mind and drive him straight to her.

That day was no different. He lunged forward with a noise halfway between a grunt and a snarl, sword swinging round with no little force, only for her to deflect it with ease by the twist of her blade, a manoeuvre that usually disarmed most opponents. 

Rarely him, though. He stepped out of the reach of her blade with his weapon still clutched firmly in his hand. He flashed her a grin. “I've seen you disarm many a man with that manoeuvre, cousin. Perhaps you have finally met your match in me?”

She barked a thoroughly unladylike laugh. “Your stubbornness has its uses, as always. But mind that your overconfidence doesn't herald your defeat.”

He struck again, this time without warning. The unmistakable sound of his blade scraping against her breastplate rang out throughout the courtyard, its echo taking a tone she’d go as far as to call mocking.

“And you would mind that you don't go so easy on me, my dear,” Constantin said, shooting her a look that almost looked angry. “I know you can do better than that.”

She barely let him finish his sentence before she gave a shout and swiped dangerously close to his neck, causing him to lurch out of the way so quickly that he almost lost his footing. She didn't wait for him to regain his balance before she bore down on him again, managing to strike a blow against his side even as he twisted to avoid her. A second strike was well within her grasp, but he surprised her by kicking her firmly in her armoured stomach, not hard enough to wind her but certainly hard enough to push her back to a distance that he could actually defend himself from.

She wasted no time in advancing again, their blades clashing together over and over again in a symphony of finely-honed metal and skill, interrupted only by the sounds of their teasing words and laboured breathing.

“You've always been such a noisy fighter, cousin,” Constantin said, swerving out of her way and making an unsuccessful jab at her shoulder. “Has anyone ever told you that?” 

She stamped on his foot, hard, which was unfortunately not distraction enough for him to be rendered unable to parry her next blow. “Most have the sense not to,” she shot back. Yet if anyone could get away with saying it, it was him. Whatever his words, she knew he’d always think the world of her, would always be so certain of his unwavering affection, even as she frantically defended herself against the kind of onslaught she’d never seen from him before.

“And you?” she continued, desperate for something to distract her from the way his breath shuddered from the exertion of his incessant strikes. “Where's all this so-called practice?!”

“In the -” they clashed together once again, blades pressed so tightly together it felt as if they would break, “- _finer details, cousin._ ” Constantin finished his sentence with gritted teeth, then finally succeeded in pushing her far enough away to afford himself even the slightest moment of reprieve. “You're simply not being observant enough. Very unlike you, if I might add.”

He'd always had an uncanny knack for striking at the very heart of the matter, whether he intended to or no. She'd observed long before she'd admitted it to herself, and glass so splintered could never be easily mended, not when she watched the sweat drip down his face and felt her lips part in time with his, their breathing falling into perfect harmony as if they were involved in a dance of an entirely different kind.

It was a sore temptation to welcome him as he thrust low, and she didn't want to think about how she waited until the very last second to deflect him, all to keep him in closer quarters for longer. He circled her again, but closer this time, close enough that she could see his eyes burning with something she'd dared to brush aside. It slowly dawned on her that it wasn’t _almost_ anger she’d seen before, it’d been genuine _fury_.

She'd kill to know who it was that he saw at the end of his sword. Was it the cruel face of his father, twisted in fury at the latest in a long line of petty grievances? The face of his mother, long since sapped of any affection? Or perhaps the Lady Rodin, who’d surely learned of what was undoubtedly his dearest secret? 

Her mind almost went to Lord d’Alarie, but any thoughts were cut short by a sharp strike to her arm, bringing Constantin back into her along with it, accompanied by a look that could only mean there was no other person clouding his vision. Anger alone could not blacken his eyes so, and she’d never seen such open longing directed at anyone else. She could've struck herself for her own idiocy, that she'd been so willing to believe his mood had truly turned from his weeks of bitterness.

“That's two strikes now, my dear,” he muttered, the edge of his blade still pressed against her. “Tell me it's not too much to hope that now you finally _see_.”

How could she not? She saw it so clearly that she'd smashed the very memory of it into a thousand pieces, only for one of the jagged shards to pierce her heart like the sharpest rapier, bloody and vulnerable with her own wretched desire. She quickly slipped her weapon under his and flicked hard, twisting it at such an angle that it went scattering across the dirt, leaving its owner shocked and utterly undefended. He backed away towards where it'd fell, eyes flitting from it to her and back again.

She advanced on him slowly, blade pointed at his bare neck as her chest heaved with far more than exertion. “Do you yield?” she asked, her voice a tone she barely recognised.

An almost devilish grin was the only answer she got as Constantin launched himself towards his fallen weapon, bringing it up to defend himself just as she brought all down to bear upon him, trying with all her might to force his blade into his chest, or hers into his shoulder.

“Tempting as it would be to yield to you, fair cousin,” He cut himself off with a wince as he began to rise from his vulnerable position, splayed almost prone upon on the ground, “- I'm afraid I can't.”

The pressure against her only grew when he reached his full height, and while she found herself thankful that he was no taller, she was also rendered utterly incapable of any kind of rebuttal. She wished for the power to turn back time and rip the awful truth from that damn lord's throat before he'd even had a chance to speak, anything to restore her mind to what it was before the last vestige of denial was cruelly stripped from her.

She lurched away from Constantin, praying that enough distance between them could at least allow her a chance to think clearly, lest she be beaten at her very own game. 

Constantin’s face was flushed beyond measure as he advanced on her for what she swore would be the last time. His lips curled around a grimace as he swerved to avoid her pre-emptive swipe, ones that some cruel master had designed to be the most delectable in the entire world, even when twisted in displeasure. He made a low noise in his throat as their swords slid together, his blade skimming just short of her hip as she gave a downward thrust of her own. Her own body didn't seem to realise the situation, humming its pleasure instead of daring to allow her easy concentration. She roiled against it and circled her blade back around to point at him again, in what her mind intended as a challenge but her burning arousal implored as an invitation. He'd always come for her when she asked.

A few slashes cut the air between them before time almost seemed to slow. She met him in the middle after his sword had circled outwards and practically pressed herself against him, knowing that it was her perfect chance to end this mistake of a challenge before she did something she couldn't take back. Her blade rose to gently kiss his neck. His sharp inhale was instantaneous.

“Three,” she whispered. The sound of his weapon meeting the ground was a distant, irrelevant sound. “Victory is mine.” A good lie, that.

The audience she'd completely forgotten about erupted into applause, but she couldn't tear herself away from him, her sword included. The smile he gave her stabbed through her heart far deeper than any weapon or shard of mirror ever could, and no victory was worth anything when he looked so utterly defeated.

He brought a hand to her face and gently wiped away a tear she hadn't even felt fall, dragging his hand away as soon as the task was done. 

“I never doubted you,” he answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trivia: i almost called this fic 'Assault on the Heart' after the last quest in the game, but came to the conclusion that it was a bit too on the nose. you can bet i swore to myself when i first noticed that quest title, though.
> 
> i also indulged Constantin's theatricality by referencing an actual 17th-century play - points to you if you know which one it is


	7. Chapter 7

_Niece,_

_If your schedule is to be believed, this letter should reach you while in Olmar, one of the final stages of your journey. However, in light of recent matters that have come to my attention, I must order you to forgo the rest of your excursion and return to Sérène immediately, my son along with you. My reasons for why I summon you are of no small importance, and I cannot and will not tolerate any delay in your arrival. Ensure that you begin preparations for your return journey as soon as you receive this missive, and do not indulge any complaints that my son may have. I anticipate your arrival within the week._

_His Serene Highness  
The Prince d’Orsay_

_—_

_Dearest Daughter and Nephew,_

_My brother tells me that he requires your presence back in Sérène at the earliest opportunity. As much I miss the two of you I do wish that you could complete the remainder of your trip in peace, away from court and away from the very worst of this disease. If what I hear is true, the Malichor does not have such a choking grip on our smaller cities, though I doubt your hosts would’ve found themselves best inclined to show you the very worst of their homes._

_There is only so much I can say in a letter, especially one that I am lucky to be able to send at all, but there have been whispers at court ever since the two of you left, some that I am loath to repeat and others that fill me with a strange mixture of hope and sadness. I pray that the latter concern will be clarified upon your return, for both your sakes as well as my own, as I fear our lives could very well be changed irrevocably if what I hear is true._

_Keep each other safe,  
Your loving Mother and Aunt  
Isabelle de Sardet_

_—_

_Constantin,_

_Meet me outside the barracks as soon as you can, I have word from Sérène._

_Your fair cousin,_   
_Elise_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The study couldn’t have been more different to the one he’d found solace in while in Olmar. No wide windows overlooked the city and no warmth issued from comfortingly lit fires. Only darkness and oppression reigned in this room, for there sat his dear father, sat in his armchair as if it were a gilded throne, one of only two seats in the entire room. He pitied the poor soul that would be stupid enough to sit at the one behind the desk, deluded by some false sense of friendship and intimacy that would undoubtedly be beaten out of them soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the added warning for violence. It's not at the graphic level it will be later on, but its nature in this chapter is uncomfortable, it being familial abuse.

A summons from his father was akin to a slow, torturous walk to the gallows. Not even his cousin’s presence at his side could banish the mounting dread that rose inside him like bile, a poisonous wave that threatened to spill out at any moment. His father hadn't even the courtesy to address his missive to the two of them, instead choosing to make it very clear exactly where his faith and appreciation had always lain. It said much that his aunt treated him more like a son than his parents ever had, not that it took a great deal of extra effort. He’d met executioners with more nurturing souls than his dear mother and father. 

As if being back in disease-ridden Serene wasn’t bad enough, they’d also had no time to adjust to life back in the city. Not a step had been taken out of their carriage before they’d been whisked away by men he'd recognised as his father’s personal guard, men who’d divested them of their luggage with the brutal efficiency only that man could order. Even in the palace they found themselves surrounded. It was as if they weren’t trusted to know the way themselves, or more likely, not to put off the meeting in favour of visiting the Princess de Sardet instead. Constantin knew all too well how consumed his cousin had become by her strange, stilted letter.

He felt a gentle squeeze to his shoulder and glanced up to see Elise’s concerned face, looking every bit as apprehensive as he felt.

“I’m right here, Constantin,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the funeral march of their escort’s boots. “I won’t leave you.”

He gave her a strained smile in answer and resisted the urge to reach up and squeeze her hand in his own. “And I’m ever thankful for it, cousin,” he replied. “No doubt he’ll ask to speak to me alone, however. You know how he loves to chastise me.”

She looked confused. “He implied in his letter that whatever it was concerned the both of us.”

“I imagine you’re quite right, but you forget that he’s never needed an excuse to single me out before,” he said bitterly, ignoring the way one of the guards turned to glare at him. “What do you think I’ve done this time? Disgrace the family name? Show unforgivable contempt for my studies? Or what about an old favourite: that I dare to be alive where his firstborn died? That one’s always fun.”

Elise’s eyes widened in horror. “Tell me he’s never actually said that to you.”

“Not in so many words. He doesn’t need to say it when it’s plain for all to see every time he dismisses me.” That, and every time he struck him.

He'd often wondered how much she actually knew of that. Just as everything else he did, the Prince d’Orsay would strike his son with calculated precision, ever careful not to leave a lasting mark and always keen to leave room for doubt. A slap to the face would be an insult to his carefully crafted reputation, the searing red mark it’d leave only screaming out the truth for all to see. Not to mention that such a petty blow only scratched the surface of the pain he could inflict. No, he could do much worse, with no witnesses.

They were not led to the main hall. Narrow corridors replaced grand ones as they delved further into the palace, their destination becoming clearer with each step they took. Constantin felt his dread ignite inside him as he realised exactly where they were going. He'd seen the inside of his father's beloved study just once before, an experience he'd never hoped to repeat.

He wordlessly caught his cousin's eye and shook his head minutely. Any sounds made here would find their way back into their throats with a vengeance, as he’d discovered to his peril all those years ago.

They arrived at a dark, imposing door after what felt like years. A particularly morose guard rapped on the door in an uncomfortably familiar rhythm, staring right at Constantin as he did it. The urge to glare back was too powerful to suppress.

The voice of judgement rang out in answer. “Enter,” it said. The door swung open.

Constantin crossed the threshold first, telling himself it was just his imagination that the room felt so much colder than the corridor outside, even more so when the door closed behind them, leaving them alone with the monster that shared his name.

The study couldn’t have been more different to the one he’d found solace in while in Olmar. No wide windows overlooked the city and no warmth issued from comfortingly lit fires. Only darkness and oppression reigned in this room, for there sat his dear father, sat in his armchair as if it were a gilded throne, one of only two seats in the entire room. He pitied the poor soul that would be stupid enough to sit at the one behind the desk, deluded by some false sense of friendship and intimacy that would undoubtedly be beaten out of them soon enough. 

The prince’s elbows rested on the arms of the chair, his fingers steepled in front of his pointed chin. He did not make to stand at their arrival. Such things were beneath him. “I trust you saw no-one before being escorted here?” he asked, his voice as cold as ever. As if any of his dogs would dare disobey an order. 

Elise spoke before the silence became unbearable. “No, sir,” she answered. “We came straight here.”

“Excellent.” If anyone else’s mouth curled in such a way Constantin would’ve deemed it a smile. But this was the Prince d’Orsay, and nothing so benign could ever grace the face of such a man. “It would be unfortunate indeed if you were to hear this from any other lips but mine. I am also pleased to welcome you back earlier than I had anticipated.”

An utter lie. The bastard had likely anticipated their every move down to the last detail. He was simply pleased to have been proven correct, as always, and far be for anyone to have taken a single step out of line. Constantin would’ve killed to return to the journey so brutally cut short, even if all that remained of it was ill-advised longing and cold, quiet nights with only his right hand and imagination for company. Such sweet torture was a blessing compared to what awaited him after his cousin was dismissed. 

“No doubt you appreciate the urgency in which you were summoned,” his father continued, voice descending into a temperature unreachable by anyone else. “You may wish to kneel when next I speak.”

They did so, obeying the advice that was an order in all but name.

The man finally stood, placing his hands behind his back as he loomed over them, his face utterly devoid of all emotion. “Your hosts over the course of your journey have kept me abreast of your activities, along with information regarding your conduct and manners. Suffice to say I was surprised to hear that there was only one notable lapse in judgement,” he looked directly at Constantin with those words, the beginnings of a sneer tugging at his lips, “Though I was less surprised to hear _who_ had committed the slight.”

Constantin knew better than to rise to what he knew full well to be a taunt. He kept his mouth shut and gaze pinned firmly at a space just left of his father’s face, too afraid of what he might see in eyes so similar yet so different from his own.

“That being said, the rest of your conduct has apparently been to your credit. Such behaviour deserves a reward.” He crossed the room and pulled the stopper from a carafe of wine, pouring himself what could only be the called the smallest serving known to man. “You are familiar with the island of Teer Fradee, are you not?”

“Yes, sir,” Elise answered again. Constantin’s own mouth was filled with far too much hatred to risk opening it even slightly. He knew what would issue forth if he spoke, none of which was advisable if he wished to leave the room unbruised and intact. Yet how he burned with anger, fuming at how his father dared assume their knowledge about a place he hadn’t even had the grace to educate them about. Clearly he’d even relied upon Constantin’s tendency to eavesdrop, when in any other capacity he’d have him beaten for the mere audacity.

Such things were of no concern to the man who’d done anything but raise him, and if he noticed Constantin’s anger, he ignored it. “The colony of New Serene already has a capable governor in Lady Morange, but I am of the opinion that our standing on the island is now secure enough to grant us an unrivalled opportunity, one that you must understand will not come again.”

No. _No._ His mind must be playing tricks on him, there was no _possible way_ -

“I give to you this one chance, my son. You will replace Lady Morange as Governor of New Serene, and prove to me once and for all that you are capable of rule. Your cousin will accompany you as Legate of the Congregation, of course, to ensure that no irrevocable mistakes are made on your part.” 

Constantin knelt in silence, ears burning. None of it made any sense. Even his birthday presents probably carried an ulterior motive, on the rare occasion that his father actually remembered the day. What could the man possibly stand to gain by granting him almost all he’d ever wanted, power, distance, _freedom_? He waited for the catch, the punchline at the end of the sentence that would put his expectations back beneath the ground where they belonged.

It never came. He merely spoke of the island and his expectations of them, lofty as they were, a cure for the Malichor being chief among them. Constantin swore he’d had fallen into some kind of deranged fantasy in which he was actually permitted a life outside his parents’ reach, in possession of responsibility he hadn’t even had to fight for. It was beyond insane. Elise was even coming _with him_ , eliminating the only complaint he’d ever have about being sent so far away. And what a marvel that was in itself, the two of them, far away from court and all its repercussions. The possibilities made him dizzy with everything from lust to still-overwhelming confusion. 

His father slowly walked back over to them; wine replenished in the glass that he now held slightly aloft. “Rise and drink, my son,” he said. “For this time, you have my blessing.”

Constantin fought past his shock and rose as commanded, leaving Elise still kneeling on the floor. He accepted the glass in a hand that almost shook and took the smallest sip he could muster. He would give his father no excuse to smack the glass from his hand and shatter it across the floor, wine and all. And that was without considering that any drink bestowed by his father may just as well have been poison.

The glass was retrieved and placed back on the desk with smug satisfaction before Elise was looked down upon and ordered to stand with a mere flick of a wrist. “Leave us for now, niece. I wish to speak with my son alone.”

She wasn’t foolish enough to look at Constantin before she stood but it was a close thing. He could hear her swallow as she nodded her understanding, a quiet ‘Sir’ being the only word she spoke as she rose to her feet. A slight brush of his shoulder was all the support she could afford to give before leaving the room, the door closing like a prison cell behind her.

Silence was allowed to fester for what must’ve been at least a minute before his jailer finally spoke. “Well,” he said, looking almost bored. “It may have taken you twenty long years to do so, but you’ve finally exceeded my expectations, Constantin.”

“Thank you, sir.”

A derisive scoff rang throughout the room, a harsh sound full of bitter disdain. “Do not thank me yet, my son. It is not an achievement to exceed a bar set so low that even babies could rise above it. You have done nothing but the bare minimum.”

He couldn’t stop himself. “Then why-”

His father struck him in the stomach, hard. “ _Silence_.”

Constantin dared to wheeze in pain, causing a hand to seal itself over his mouth, blocking half his air. 

“I cannot believe I speak to a grown man. Even a child understands the meaning of that word.” The words were spat into his face with such venom. “I can only take it that your stupidity comes from your mother’s side, for such disregard of the proper authority can never and will never have a place in this family. Do you understand me?”

He had no idea what he wanted. Did he disobey by answering, or did the command for silence still stand? Everything he did would be wrong, and that was without accounting for the hand still held fast against his mouth, preventing him from making any sound at all.

That hand tightened even further, constricting his face even more. “Well?”

A nod was the only response he could give, and judging by the answering sneer it was the sole right answer to an otherwise impossible scenario. 

One final, cruel clench of the fingers pressed against his face before the hand released its grip at last. It took all Constantin’s willpower to repress the instinctive urge to take a long, shuddering gasp of air.

His father ignored him in favour of settling himself behind his desk with an air that reeked of self-satisfaction. “It seems we have finally stumbled upon what actually works to encourage your obedience, Constantin. Could you tell me what that is?”

“Threats, sir?”

“Close. Not threats, necessarily, but consequences. Real, tangible consequences that even you would care about. If you fail on Teer Fradee, it will not just be your own wellbeing at stake.”

Fear cracked like a whip inside him. Something told him that it wasn’t the people of the island he referred to, nor those of the Congregation.

His father pursed his lips and seemed to consider his next words carefully, no doubt choosing the ones that would hurt him most. “Do not mistake her presence as a reward,” he settled upon. “If there were any other way to keep you in line, I would deprive you of her permanently, if only to remind you of the consequences of your own wilful disobedience. But, unfortunate as it is that your mutual attachment is so strong, she is nevertheless the only one other than me who has ever succeeded in keeping you on a leash. You even seem to enjoy it.”

Yes, how _unfortunate_ it was that she was one of the few remaining lights of his life, almost all others being brutally suppressed by a man that had the audacity to call himself his father, let alone his ruler. No true parent would send their son away so willingly, not with so little confidence.

“Thus,” the bastard continued, “She will go with you to the island as your chief diplomat, serving as the first point of Congregation contact to the other factions, allies and natives alike. I hope I do not need to inform you of the dangers of such a role.”

Ah, _there_ was the catch. He wished he could leap over the desk and throttle the man there and then, squeezing that neck with all his might and relishing in the desperation that would finally seep into those hateful eyes, begging for the mercy that would never be granted.

“She will be acting on your orders, be at the mercy of whatever danger you put her in. If something should befall her,” he paused, waiting just long enough for his words to find their inevitable mark. “Well. I pray that the consequences prove a lesson to you. You will not fail me, Constantin. I do not think you could live with yourself if you did.”

\--

Elise’s audience with his father was much longer than his own. He’d brushed off her unspoken questions when they’d reunited in the hallway, ignoring her worried eyes and promising to meet her outside her quarters when she’d finished. That’d been over an hour ago, yet there was still no sign of her. His blood had run cold when the thought of his father hurting her had slipped into his mind unbidden, and he'd paced his feet raw in the clutches of an unrelenting anxiety that refused to loosen its grip. He’d given up standing outside after about twenty minutes, the pain in his stomach joining the pain in his feet, growing unbearable enough that simply being upright caused shooting pains to run up his body, each stab of agony a reminder of how powerless he remained. 

He knew Elise wouldn’t mind if he made himself comfortable as he waited, and he’d done so, daring to lie atop her bed when a chair had failed to alleviate his father’s damage. A fresh wave of pain in his abdomen spurred him to open up his shirt where he lay, morbid curiosity nudging him over the line to see just how much damage had been done this time.

It said too much about how accustomed he’d become to his father’s behaviour that the massive dark splotches blooming across his stomach barely even upset him. His mind felt numb as he brushed a finger gently over the injury, wincing when a little pressure set off familiar flares that he knew he shouldn’t be so used to.

The worst thing was that his father was right, he couldn't live with himself if he failed. Not if that failure meant losing her to dangers of his own making, instability wrought by his own hand. No amount of bruising could ever be worse than that.

He’d just finished rearranging his shirt when Elise finally returned, her reddened cheeks implying that she’d wasted no time in returning to him. He sat up with a jolt. Not even the mess in his mind could suppress the image of her running down the palace’s endless corridors, clothes becoming more and more dishevelled with every corner she turned, culminating in an appearance that looked positively debauched.

Judging by the look she gave him, perhaps he did too. He remembered that he was probably red in the face himself and lounging on her bed no less, without any excuse he’d be willing to tell her about.

“Constantin, what -” she started, looking him up and down with an expression very close to alarm. “I thought you were going to wait outside?”

He needed some kind of excuse, even if it was destined to be a poor one. “I, uh,” he wracked his brain for something, anything that wasn't the truth she never needed to hear. “My stomach was playing up,” he settled upon, knowing the lie was terrible as soon as he said it. “Must've been something I ate in the carriage.”

One look at her told him she didn't believe that for a second. But she said no more of it and slumped down beside him instead, her shoulder brushing his. 

“Tell me what you're thinking,” she said quietly. “I have so much on my mind I barely know where to start, I - ”

He tentatively wrapped an arm around her shoulder, half expecting her to shrug him off. She didn't. Her head gently came to rest against his as she sighed, a sound that felt just as contented as it did exhausted.

He squeezed her shoulder a little more firmly when he finally answered her, speaking words he was almost embarrassed to say: “Tell me he’s wrong, cousin.”

She looked back at him in surprise, or looked at him as best she could while their heads remained so close. “What about?”

“About us. About what we're capable of. About _all of it_.”

“I don't understand.”

He reluctantly pulled away from her a moment and gently took both her shoulders in his hands, turning them both so he could look her directly in the eye as he spoke. “My father believes that my incompetence will end in your death,” he told her, his voice breaking like a child’s. “Tell me he’s wrong, cousin. Tell me you’ll never leave me.”

He had no time to gauge her reaction before he was enveloped in her arms, her soft embrace filling his senses as she all but buried her face in his neck. “I promise you, Constantin,” she murmured, so muffled that he felt her voice rather than heard it. “You won’t lose me, and I would never abandon you. Especially not now I’m stuck with you on the other side of the ocean.”

He laughed weakly and wrapped his arms around her in return. “And who would you rather be stuck with, my dear? Don’t tell me there’s another newly minted governor itching to steal you away from me already.”

“Not yet, at any rate.” She pulled back, but only so much that her words were no longer muffled in his neck. The tenderness in her smile was more than enough to compensate for the loss of her embrace. “For now, I’m at your sole disposal, for better or worse.” 

“Having you by my side could only ever be the very best of things, cousin. Of that, I have no doubt.”

“You also shouldn’t doubt my ability,” she reminded him, prodding him in the chest to accentuate her point. “I challenge you to order me into the middle of a battlefield, if only to watch as I make it out unscathed.”

He could picture it well; cold determination in her eyes as she cut down their enemies one by one, their mocking peers, incessant suitors and even his parents all painting the faces of the dead. 

“I think I’d quite like to see that,” he said. If such sights were what awaited him on faraway shores then he wanted to leave that instant.

She rolled her eyes and collapsed backwards to lie down properly on the bed, a satisfied sigh escaping her lips as she did so. “I’m certain you would. But be so kind as to give me some warning, at least.”

It didn’t escape him that the last time he’d had the luxury of a soft bed he’d wasted no time in delving his hand deep into his trousers, playing that delicious spar of theirs over and over again until he was spent, all before that accursed missive had arrived and sent them well on their way.

That in mind, he resisted the temptation to lay down alongside her, no matter how much his bruises screamed for him to do so. Neither of them needed a repeat of that evening with the dress, especially not when they had so much else to think about.

“But what about you?” he finally remembered to ask. “What wisdom did my father have to impart upon you alone?”

Her voice rose from where she lay, making him wish again that he could join her in her comfort. “He spoke of my role on the island, mainly, and what our allies could potentially ask of us when we arrive.”

A stab of irritation joined his other fatherly injuries, as if he hadn’t enough of them. “I can’t say I’m surprised to learn that he didn’t think it necessary to inform me of such things,” he said bitterly. “I take it he told you more of this potential cure for the Malichor too?”

“Less than you’re imagining, I think. He says there’s nothing in stone, but enough possibility to truly make a task of it.” She sat up a little, propping herself up on her elbows to give him the full effect of her enthusiasm. “Imagine it, Constantin, a continent free of that awful disease! Your father and I may not see eye to eye most of the time, but he’s right in saying I’d have a vested interest in finding a cure. No-one deserves to suffer like that.”

Perhaps something was broken inside him somehow, for try as he might, he just couldn’t muster up the same degree of passion for the idea. He knew he cared, to say otherwise would be heartless to a terrifying extent, but he simply couldn’t shake the notion of decisive finality that’d festered in his mind ever since his escape was finally spoken aloud, the idea that once he left the shores of the continent, he would be hard-pressed to ever return.

“I will be sad to leave my mother for so long, but I’m certain she’ll be proud of us,” she continued, blessedly ignorant to Constantin’s warring thoughts. “We should visit her. I’ve missed her these past weeks, and the content of her letter still troubles me.”

He tried to recall its exact content as an undefinable dark inkling slowly began to take form. “Remind me what it said?” he asked.

“I have it here.” She twisted her hips to reach inside her trouser pocket and pulled out a heavily folded piece of parchment, handing it to him with a momentary brush of their fingers. 

He took it and unfolded it slowly, careful not to tear the now-delicate message. It was oddly cryptic as far as personal letters went, written with far more caution than he’d expect from a loving mother’s message to her only child. “A strange mixture of hope and sadness,” he muttered aloud. “Do these words not strike you as odd, cousin?” 

She took the letter back and scanned it quickly, her eyes stopping at what was presumably the very part he’d mentioned. “It doesn’t make any more sense than it did the first time I read it,” she said, absentmindedly tapping her finger against the parchment, a gentle _pat pat pat_ accompanying her thoughtful expression. “Should we see her now? If it’s as late as I think it is, she should’ve been back in her rooms at least an hour ago.”

Constantin felt his legs shake slightly when they rose from the bed and left the room as it was, his mind racing. The Princess de Sardet had insisted that her daughter be given her own quarters some years ago, rooms noticeably closer to Constantin’s own. It was a welcome gesture at the time, but he hated it at that moment, his aunt’s quarters being literally the other end of the palace. By the time they reached her his growing suspicions may have eaten him alive. If he was right, and he’d never wanted to be wrong so badly in his life, then his father was even more of a monster than he’d ever known.

Elise set a fast pace as she strode purposefully down the first of many corridors. She kept opening and folding the letter over and over again, as if she hoped a new meaning would reveal itself on her ninetieth read.

“Cousin -”

She shoved it back in her pocket. “It just doesn’t make any sense, you said it yourself. Not only has she never written to me like that before, she’s also never needed to use a missive as an excuse to write to me. It’s as though she had to ask your father for permission, and even then was barred from saying what she truly wished.” 

Unless the news was far too dire to put in a mere letter. He swallowed, letting the silence linger just a little too long as the horrible truth became stuck in his throat.

All colour drained from her face. “Vested interest,” she whispered. “No. _No.”_

She ran down the corridor. It took all he had just to keep up as she ruthlessly shoved courtiers out of her way, not caring enough to apologise on her behalf when they yelled in protest. _Let it not be true_ , he pleaded as he ran. Let his aunt just be confused when they burst into her room unannounced, let it just be another cruel joke at their expense. ‘ _Vested interest_ ’ indeed. Even if his aunt was hale and healthy, he would tear that man limb from limb for saying those words to her, for dangling the truth in front of her eyes to better torture her burdened mind. He must’ve caught the slightest whiff of hope on them when they’d knelt at his feet, an unforgivable offence for all but the vaunted Prince himself. No matter how much his own love for Elise twisted away from acceptable familial affection, he could at least find solace in the fact that he cared for his almost-sister far more than his father had ever cared for Isabelle de Sardet. 

There was an undeniable chill in the air as they neared the Princess’s quarters, by which point all the courtiers seemed to have evaporated in favour of eerie silence. They finally slowed to a walk when they turned what he knew to be the last corner. Constantin reached for her hand out of childlike instinct he’d long thought lost, willing her to turn back to him one last time. 

She did, if only to stare back with what looked like pure fear, squeezing his hand for the briefest moment before she let go and strode towards her mother’s door without a second glance.

Constantin watched from a distance as a long, dark beak answered her knock, the body attached to it barely reacting as it was shoved aside like all the others.

The crow turned its inhuman head towards him when the door slammed in its face, its unblinking gaze staring straight through him.

His feet rooted him to the spot. He dared speak the question he no longer needed to ask: “What’s happened?”

A leather-clad hand reached into what appeared to be an unassuming bag at first glance, a myth that was quickly dispelled as he saw what abomination emerged from within its depths; a tiny glass vial, half-filled with black blood.

—

If he heard his own desperate words echoed back to him later that evening, he swore never to mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter (affectionately called 'constantin's drunken bender' in my drafts) takes us into the game's actual timeline, and I aim to quote every canonical line I use verbatim, albeit with a few grammatical adjustments to ensure it actually makes sense in a written format, especially since the game's subtitles leave much to be desired. Anyway, I now get to write a bar fight.
> 
> 28/2/21: I'm aiming to have the next part up by the 4th (Thursday)


End file.
